


Incense and peppermints, the color of time

by powerfulowl (StuckyFlangst)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Sex, Artist Steve Rogers, Barista Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Modern Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, POV Alternating, Tony Stark is a good bro (eventually), Top Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Yoga Instructor Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckyFlangst/pseuds/powerfulowl
Summary: ‘Would you like anything else?’ Steve gestured at the cabinet of cakes, gazing at Bucky from under those eyelashes. ‘You look like you deserve something sweet as well.’Bucky literally had no idea what was happening to him. No one had flirted with him since 1943, but some long unopened files in his mind were suggesting that eyelash fluttering and lip chewing (fuck Steve was biting gently on his full bottom lip) were signals which a Bucky long ago would have taken as a cue to flash his best smile and lean forward a little. Most of those memories seemed to involve women, but not exclusively.----Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier, masked Avenger, trying to redeem himself and get along with his workmates. On the side, he's trying to work out how to be a person again, which in the 21st century involves going to a coffee shop.Steve Rogers, who is definitely not a twink, decides Bucky can be his new work crush, even though he's out of Steve's league. But then his plans go better than he expected.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 121
Kudos: 663





	1. Little to win, nothing to lose

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a fluffy coffee shop Shrinkyclinks, but tbh the coffee shop content drops a fair bit after this chapter, and the fluff to angst ratio tips in the angst direction. But never fear - there is a happy ending! Long live flangst!

‘You are James Barnes, you are a veteran, you are getting a coffee, because you are a person, and that is something people do,’ Bucky whispered to himself as he approached the coffee shop.

He had scoped out the coffee shop a few weeks back. It was a fair distance from his apartment, so he had sufficient time to lose tails on the way there or back. It wasn’t a chain, and it didn’t seem to be too busy. But it was busy enough that he would be in there around other people, which was the idea.

He had dressed carefully in black jeans and a plain, soft red sweater. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. With a hair elastic with a strawberry bobble, because he was allowed to have nice things now. Just a guy out for a coffee.

A guy with seven knives hidden on his person.

He pushed the door open. It was warm inside, though he hadn’t really noticed the chill in the April air. Spring had arrived gently this year.

He ran his eye over the room. Five people sitting at tables alone, looking at laptops or phones, two couples and a group of four people wearing suits. There were two people standing in the line, a tall man with a shaved head standing behind the coffee machine whistling , and another taking the orders who he couldn’t see.

It was fine. Bucky was fine.

He walked up to the line and stood a few feet back from the woman in front of him. She was tapping her foot and glancing at her watch impatiently.

The man in front of her finished ordering and stood off to the side, waiting for a takeaway.

Bucky still couldn’t see the person taking orders, though he could hear a deep, smooth voice.

Bucky had his metal hand shoved into his pocket, trying not to clench it. He was wearing black gloves to cover it, but he still felt exposed.

Then the woman was finishing up and stepping aside and Bucky was staring down into the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen, rimmed with heavy dark lashes. Bucky stepped forward awkwardly, trying to pull his attention away from those eyes, but much to his distress found they were housed in an adorable face with a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken and full pink lips spreading into a smile. And it was all crowned by a halo of wild blond hair sticking in several directions but looking like it would be so soft to touch.

‘What can I get you,’ he asked Bucky, kindly prompting him after he had been standing, gaping, for an uncertain amount of time.

‘Just a black coffee, thanks,’ Bucky mumbled, fishing for his wallet in his pocket. The man behind the counter was wearing a tight white t-shirt with a black apron with rainbow edging. He had tattoos crawling up his forearms – colorful flowering vines on his right arm and intertwined patterns of stars and waves on his left. On his apron was a handwritten name badge, also decorated with stars, which said Steve.

‘Large, medium or small?’ Steve asked him, still smiling, even though Bucky was staring at him like a weirdo. So much for being a person.

‘Medium,’ Bucky said quickly.

‘Would you like anything else?’ Steve gestured at the cabinet of cakes, gazing at Bucky from under those eyelashes. ‘You look like you deserve something sweet as well.’

Bucky literally had no idea what was happening to him. No one had flirted with him since 1943, but some long unopened files in his mind were suggesting that eyelash fluttering and lip chewing ( _fuck Steve was biting gently on his full bottom lip_ ) were signals which a Bucky long ago would have taken as a cue to flash his best smile and lean forward a little. Most of those memories seemed to involve women, but not exclusively.

But right now Bucky did not have a quick smile and a smooth line. Right now Bucky was huge and meaty and garishly red, towering over beautiful, slender Steve with his long neck and narrow chest and large hands.

‘Sure, um, what would you recommend?’ Bucky was incapable of making a decision. He was aware of his five-day stubble, the hair escaping from his ponytail falling across his eyes. Long ago Bucky would have been clean shaven and pomaded.

‘A cinnamon bun?’ Steve suggested. ‘I like to dunk them into the coffee, but don’t tell Sam that.’

‘I heard that, Steve,’ the man at the coffee machine said, and Steve grinned conspiratorially at Bucky, who may or may not have managed a weak smile.

‘You having it here?’ Steve asked, picking up a pair of tongs. Bucky nodded, trying hard not to fall back into his customary scowl. Steve didn’t deserve a scowl.

Steve put the cinnamon bun on a plate.

‘You can take a seat and I’ll bring the coffee out.’ Bucky pulled out his wallet but Steve waved a hand at him.

‘Pay at the end. Who knows, you might want more coffees, or more buns.’ Then he actually winked at Bucky, who took the cinnamon bun and fled.

He set himself up at a table in the corner with a good view of the door, and the café, and the counter. It was not near an exit, but he could easily smash the window if he needed to get out. He carefully set his cinnamon bun aside, waiting for Steve to arrive with the coffee.

Bucky watched Steve take a few more orders, smiling and laughing with a couple of people. Then Sam called out and Steve grabbed two cups, dropping one at a table near the counter, and then heading towards Bucky.

‘Here you go,’ Steve put the cup down. ‘And trust me on the cinnamon bun.’ He smiled and trotted away, and Bucky almost spilt his coffee at the sight of Steve’s perky ass in blue jeans rolled up at the ends, the t-shirt showing off his shoulder blades and hints of more ink underneath.

Bucky put his hands on his knees to steady himself. Steve probably thought it was weird that Bucky was still wearing gloves. Steve was definitely not interested in Bucky, who was almost 100 years old, deeply traumatised, and had a secret identity as the Winter Soldier, masked Avenger.

Bucky pulled off some of the cinnamon roll, dipped it in the coffee and bit off a coffee-soaked bite. It was delicious – the bitter coffee, the creamy icing, the cinnamon and sugar. Bucky took a thoughtful bite of the bun, chewing the soft doughy roll and taking a sip of the coffee. The coffee was excellent and Bucky thought he saw why Sam might be upset about it being consumed via baked goods.

Bucky was – he was content, and warm, and his mouth tasted of cinnamon and coffee. He was monitoring the room, but at a low level. He was aware of Steve at the counter, smiling, frowning at the back of rude customers, joking with Sam.

He was contemplating a second coffee and some other baked treat when his phone went off in his pocket – vibrating violently.

‘Fuck,’ Bucky stopped it and leaped to his feet. He dropped a fifty onto the counter with a ‘Keep the change,’ and a bow of his head.

\-----

Steve watched the mysterious, beautiful man with the thick thighs and soft hair race out of the coffee shop, ponytail bouncing. It was hard to tell in that loose hoodie, but Steve was pretty sure he was just as thick on top. He looked like he was really filling it out.

‘Shut your mouth or flies will get in,’ Sam said, starting Steve out of his reverie.

Steve glared at him, but his heart wasn’t in it.

‘I tried flirting with him, but I couldn’t tell if it worked.’ Steve groaned and put his head on the bench, then realised that was probably unhygienic and had to get the spray bottle out and wipe it down.

‘He dipped the bun in the coffee, man, that’s a good sign.’ It had quietened down, and Sam was taking a moment to drink an espresso shot.

Steve sighed. ‘He’s out of my league, Sam. Did you see his thighs?’

‘Come on Steve, don’t undersell yourself. Maybe he likes twinks.’

Steve glared properly this time. ‘I’m not a twink Sam. That term is frequently used in a derogatory way, and I refuse to be labelled on the basis of my physical appearance.’ Then he glared even harder when he realised Sam was winding him up.

‘Maybe he especially likes angry twinks.’

Steve threw a half-eaten muffin at Sam’s head.

\-----

Bucky was deep inside an underground bunker, breathing heavily. Natasha and Clint were on their way towards him.

The thick, heavy smell of blood filled his nostrils. No one had gone down easy. That was always the problem with Hydra; one of the reasons that even now they were still encountering small outposts struggling to rear another head.

There was blood on his arm and the plates were whirring to clear it out. His breath came loud in his mask.

He caught a noise from a corner and shifted his eyes and raised his gun.

A voice started speaking, high and nervous.

‘Zel-an-i-ye.’

Bucky winced at the awful pronunciation. Even if the triggers hadn’t been removed, he wasn’t sure that they would have even worked on him in that accent.

‘Sem-nad-sat.’

Suddenly Bucky heard a whirring behind him – the distinctive noise of Iron Man’s suit. He turned and saw Tony pointing his blasters towards Bucky.

‘For fucks sake Tony, they don’t work anymore.’

‘Well why are you just standing there?’ Tony’s voice came through his comms.

‘I’m a bit worn out okay?’ Bucky snapped. _Exhausted, bone-tired of killing._

‘By all that killing?’ Tony’s voice was a sharp, accusatory echo of his own mind. Bucky could see the bodies in the corridors stretching away, heads, guts shot out, throats slit. He shut his eyes briefly.

‘Dev-yat.’ He hadn’t even noticed the voice moving through the words. The voice was so young.

‘Natasha.’ Bucky said through the comms. ‘Could you come and secure the last hostile in here. Maybe he has some information.’ Bucky walked out past Tony and back through the hallways, forcing himself to count the bodies and add it to his total.

It was all intelligence and info gathering from here. His job was done. While the others cleaned up and downloaded data he waited outside, staring across the Nevada desert.

Stark being on the mission always made everything worse. While Natasha, Clint and Bucky could sit in companionable silence for hours waiting for something to go down, Bucky could feel Stark’s eyes burning holes in him the whole time.

And it was fair enough. Bucky felt specifically terrible about Stark’s parents, addition to his general background crippling guilt. He’d known Howard during the war, and he could remember his face as he’d looked at him with horror and said _Barnes?_ He tried very hard not to think about Stark’s mother ( _Maria_ his mind whispered), and her face, her cries for Howard, for Tony.

Part of Bucky thirsted for a greater punishment than he had yet received, and spending five days in tense silence enduring Tony’s wrath would have scratched that itch a little; except he knew that Tony was suffering too, and no justice seemed served by that.

This whole Avengers thing was meant to be his act of redemption, not a way of undoing years of expensive therapy by making Tony think about his parents’ death all the time.

He’d tried to convince Fury that it was just a bad idea all round to put them together, and generally Tony’s firepower wasn’t needed for the smaller ops, but things were always ‘coming up’. Specifically Hydra, where Tony insisted coming along in part because he was the only one strong enough to take Bucky if he _turned_ for some reason.

Bucky was distantly aware of the heat of the sun on his black uniform, sweat rising from every pore, the suffocating feel of the mask over his face.

‘You could take it off, you know,’ Clint materialised beside him, obviously booted out as well. ‘There’s no one out here to reveal your identify to.’

Bucky nodded, but stayed as he was. If he kept the mask on he could keep all this confined to the Soldier – the violence of the sun, the desert, himself.

So now Bucky was sitting in a meeting room, still in his tac pants and an undershirt he’d been wearing for 48 hours, unshowered and unhappy, scowling at the table, even though he knew that just made Tony think that he didn’t care.

Natasha was trying to give him some sort of look, maybe to calm him down, or warn him, but Bucky was reaching his limit. He could smell blood on himself, and his breath was quickening in his chest. He ground his teeth, trying to hold himself together, the plates in his arm shifting noisily, gummed up with dirt and some weird gunk he’d put his hand into in the underground lab.

Fury was asking a bunch of debriefing questions, most of which Natasha was answering. Bucky couldn’t even process words anymore.

‘Hey, murderbot,’ Tony snapped, and Bucky realised Fury had asked him a question.

He looked down at where his fingers had scored deep lines into the table and stood up and left the room.

‘That’s it, just run away from the problem,’ he heard Tony saying as he left, and Natasha growling at Tony.

Bucky made it to the bathroom and into a stall before he blacked out for five minutes.

‘System failure,’ he whispered to himself when he came to, propped up against the toilet, still smelling of blood, some if it trickling fresh from his head and sticking in his hair.

\-----

Steve had stopped hoping that the beautiful ponytailed man would return. He had circulated his description among the other workers, in case he turned up on another shift, but no one had seen him.

Steve was sure that even if the other workers were not quite as taken as he was with the mysterious man, it was hard to miss six foot something built like a brick shithouse wearing fruit bobbles in his luscious hair.

But after two weeks Steve had accepted that he would never see the man again, and had even attempted to go on a date, which had been incredibly unsuccessful. Still, he’d made the effort.

Except, the door to the coffee shop was opening, and there he was. His hair was scruffier, pulled back off his face roughly with a plain back tie, and his face looked drawn. He was hunching those enormous shoulder like he wanted to be smaller, wearing a black hoodie and black jeans. His eyes flicked around the coffee shop warily, then finally rested on Steve.

Steve gave a smile and a little wave, which he hoped were both welcoming and (or) comforting. There was a noise from the direction of the coffee machine, but Steve chose to ignore it and Sam altogether.

The man did seem to let out a breath he’d been holding and walked towards the counter. Despite the hunched shoulders, he moved gracefully, almost prowling, lithe a graceful despite his size. Steve’s brain was shorting out a little at the sight of that huge form and the delicate bowing of his head.

Beautiful Man (Steve needed to get his name somehow) was standing in front of Steve, eyes lowered… shyly? Was he shy? His eyelashes were dark and thick, and Steve could see dark circles under his eyes. He kept his left arm in his pocket, a glove on the other.

‘Nice to see you,’ Steve said, smiling again, trying to be both nonchalant and welcoming. ‘Black coffee again?’

‘Yes please,’ the man said, voice low and husky, sending delightful shivers down Steve’s spine.

‘What about baked goods? Cinnamon bun again or something new?’

‘Cinnamon bun _and_ something new?’ the man gave a little forced smile and raised his eyes to Steve’s. They were a beautiful blue-grey – a shade that Steve imagined would change with moods and seasons. He idly started imagining how he would mix paints to match it.

‘Hmmm, how about a peanut butter brownie?’ Steve suggested.

‘That sounds great, thank you.’ He seemed to be trying to be polite, easy, happy. Steve new that feeling, and empathised with the man’s complete failure to succeed. An ungenerous part of Steve wondered how hard it could be to be so strong, so handsome, have enough money to give a fifty to pay for a coffee and a cinnamon bun. But looking and the man’s hands stuffed into his pockets, the grinding of his jaw, Steve reminded himself that you never new what someone was carrying with them.

‘Having here?’ Steve asked. He was torn – if the man stayed here he would be here, and Steve could sneak looks at him, watch him dip his cinnamon bun in the coffee, push his hair behind his ear. But if he got it to go, he could learn his name without asking.

‘Yes, and I might get a large coffee today.’ He was really smiling now, a sort of small smile that Steve liked to imagine was just for him, not for peanut butter brownies and coffee.

‘Sure thing.’ Steve loaded up a plate and pushed it over. ‘I’ll bring the coffee over to you.’

The man took the plate and made his way to the corner table again. It was very quiet today, and he seemed to relax a bit in the corner.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, but Steve ignored him, at least until the coffee was done and he could take it over.

As he deposited the mug on the table he said, ‘Now don’t try dipping the brownie in the coffee. I tried it the other day and it didn’t work so well.’

Then he smiled and winked and walked away.

\-----

Bucky was feeling better. He’d been going to the coffee shop on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons – days when Steve worked and at the time he had assessed the crowd was the smallest.

Work had been blissfully quiet, and he’d had some time and space to clear his head, to carefully put the pieces of himself into a semblance of togetherness, even if he knew the pieces weren’t actually glued together. He hadn’t had to see Stark at all, and Fury must have realised he was pushing his asset too hard.

Natasha came by sometimes. Usually they watched TV together – part of an extended project to try to understand the pop culture references people kept throwing at them, and they kept not understanding.

She had asked if he was okay, and he said yes, and she seemed to be starting to believe him.

But it was Steve that was making him feel better. His gentle smile, the way he looked happy every time Bucky came through the door. Steve just assumed he was a person, and Bucky was feeling his skin stirring under the regard of that belief.

The fifth time he’d gone in, and Steve had taken his order and deposited a cherry ripe slice on his plate alongside the cinnamon bun, Bucky had taken a deep breath and said – ‘I’m Bucky, by the way. Seems fair to tell you since I know your name.’ And he’d smiled, not the shining smile from long ago Bucky, but a smile nonetheless. Bucky was his name to give. No one else knew it, it wasn’t on any official records. And he was giving it to Steve.

Steve had looked delighted and said _nice to meet you_ and reached out to shake his hand, apparently not minding that Bucky was still wearing gloves.

Bucky was doing really well.

There was a mission, but it was short, and local, though it left Bucky’s left side aching due to an unfortunate manoeuvre he’d had to pull with a sewer cover to stop a bipedal liver fluke from escaping. SHIELD had though it was either alien or Russian, but it turned out to be a New York native.

The arm was really too heavy for him, and no matter how hard he worked out there was something about how it dragged at his side that always pinched something deep inside, causing the muscles radiating out from the join to seize up.

He never noticed it when he was just The Soldier, but when he was trying to be a person, he found he was more present to the pains in his body. And the pleasant feelings in his body.

He was sitting at his favorite table, empty coffee cup in front of him, absently rubbing at his left shoulder, when Steve walked over to him, taking off his apron. He was wearing a blue t-shirt today, pulled tight across his skinny chest, with a pair of red cord pants rolled up at the end.

‘Hi Bucky,’ he said, not much taller than Bucky was seated.

‘Hi Steve,’ Bucky replied, pulse racing a little at the proximity of Steve’s soft pale skin, pink lips, fresh, soapy smell.

‘Mind if I join you for a little bit? I’ve got a break.’

‘Please do,’ Bucky’s heart was pounding, and his skin tingled a little, like his skin was trying to reach towards Steve. He didn’t know in what way exactly Steve was interested in him, but he was interested enough to come and spend his break with Bucky.

Steve stayed standing, frowning at Bucky, who realised suddenly that he was still rubbing his shoulder. He blushed and dropped his hand.

‘Is your shoulder sore?’ Steve asked.

‘Yeah,’ Bucky said, taking a deep breath and clenching his fist. If he was going to get to know Steve better he had to tell him things. That was what people did. ‘I, um, have a prosthetic, and it’s a bit heavy.’

‘Is that why you wear gloves?’ Steve asked gently. Bucky couldn’t look at him still.

‘Yeah.’ That was mostly true. The metal arm was what most people knew The Soldier for – _Winter Soldier_ now, he reminded himself, more ‘patriotic’.

Steve stood quietly for a moment, then took his own deep breath.

‘Look, you can say no, and it’s totally fine, but I actually did a massage course to help my mum when she was sick, and I could probably help a little? Like, you probably have someone that you see, but if it’s hurting now….’ Steve trailed off and Bucky looked up at him. He looked nervous, and his pale cheeks were blushing red.

Bucky absolutely wanted to make Steve relaxed and happy. Wanted it more than he was afraid of Steve touching him. In fact – and this was a revelation that sent warmth all the way through his body – he _wasn’t_ afraid of Steve touching him.

‘Sure, that would be nice. If you don’t mind.’ Bucky couldn’t believe he had said the words, but he had, and it was worth it to see Steve’s face light up.

‘Okay,’ he slipped in behind Bucky’s chair. And Bucky let him _stand behind him_. ‘I’m just going to start with your neck – I won’t go too close to the prosthetic. Bucky nodded, unable to make more words come out of his mouth.

Steve gently laid his hands on Bucky’s trapezoids, just resting there for a minute, then ghosting his hands gently back and forth.

‘Wow, you are really tight. Let me know if I push too hard.’

Bucky let out a soft moan as Steve ran his thumbs along the edge of the muscle and then dug them in.

‘Okay?’ Steve asked.

‘So okay,’ Bucky managed to croak out. As Steve massaged into his neck, down his upper back, finding the knots where the pain gathered and wrapped around itself, pressing in until they unfurled a little, Bucky let out an embarrassing series of groans and little mewling sounds.

When Steve stopped, after all to brief a time, running the flats of his hands across Bucky’s back, Bucky was feeling incredibly good and incredibly stressed out at the same time.

Because he _really liked_ Steve touching him. His entire body was tingling in sympathy with the places Steve had touched. Natasha touched him sometimes, on the arm, or with a foot on his thigh while they watched TV on his couch, but no one had touched him so tenderly for more than 70 years.

Steve slid into the chair opposite him.

‘Was that good?’ He sounded a little nervous again, such a contrast to the confident press of his strong hands.

‘It was… amazing,’ Bucky managed, feeling himself blushing.

Steve grinned at him, and they sat for a moment in a comfortable silence, looking at one another. Were they gazing into each other’s eyes? Bucky wasn’t sure.

‘So I have a proposal for you, Bucky.’ Steve leaned his chin onto his hands. ‘I have some muscular issues of my own. I’ve got scoliosis, amongst other ailments, and Sam is always telling me I need to exercise and get stronger, but I can’t afford a fancy gym or a personal trainer, and I keep injuring myself or giving myself an asthma attack using free workout apps on my phone.’

Bucky frowned. He knew Steve was (perfectly) small, but this news about ailments was troubling some long-buried part of Bucky, which appeared to now want to check Steve’s temperature and wrap him up in blankets. Bucky had flashes of small girls (sisters) running around without hats in winter and looking up at him miserably from bed.

Steve laughed at him. ‘Don’t look so worried, Buck. I’m okay. I just need to get a bit stronger, and I thought we could help each other. Like an exchange.’

Nobody had ever called him Buck before. It was a name Steve had given him.

‘You look like a pretty fit guy. You could show me some exercises, and I could give you massages in return?’ Steve was smiling at him, and suggesting that they meet separately, outside of here. Like friends.

Bucky stared at Steve for a few moments, then said, ‘Yes Steve I’d really like that.’ Because he couldn’t let Steve worry that Bucky was going to turn him down.

\-----

Steve was winning at life. Okay, he worked in a coffee shop at minimum wage and had made a sum total of $1500 from selling his art last year, and lived in an apartment with four other people and a room with one tiny window, and was in almost every way completely failing to adult correctly. But the hottest, sweetest man alive had agreed to meet him in the park and exercise with him.

And that man was now walking towards him, holding a yoga mat and wearing one of those fancy black skin-tight exercise tops and a pair of loose, short purple shorts. He was massive and muscular, the wonder of his thighs almost in full view, rippling as he stalked across the grass. Steve may have whimpered slightly at the sight of those thighs and the solid expanse of Bucky’s torso, visions of nuzzling between the mounds of his pectoral muscles, between those thighs, spring unbidden to mind.

Steve himself was in a tight white tank top and a pair of blue tights covered with bright pink stars. Insofar as he, bony and misaligned as he was, could look good, he thought he looked pretty good.

When Bucky caught sight of him and smiled and blushed, with that little head dip, Steve felt warm and in tune with the bright summer day. Bucky seemed to think Steve looked good.

When Bucky reached Steve he greeted him with a shy little, ‘Hey Steve.’ Steve considered a hug, but decided they needed to work up to that. Bucky's hair bobble was a bunch of purple grapes today. Did he coordinate them with his outfits? That was so adorable.

They spread their mats out (well, Steve had borrowed one from Sam) and Steve explained a little about his spine. Bucky nodded and got Steve to turn around and touch his toes so Bucky could see how he bent. And maybe check out his ass, Steve thought hopefully.

‘Um, so I did a bit of research,’ Bucky said hesitantly. Steve felt a quiver of pleasure at the idea of Bucky thinking of him, preparing for this. Looking at Bucky sitting cross legged and upright – that combination of commanding, almost threatening physical presence and the gentle way he held his head, rested his gloved hands on his thighs – Steve felt a deeper stirring in his belly.

This had been one of his silly coffee shop crushes, a way to pass the time at a job which, all things considered, he kind of hated – having to deal constantly with entitled assholes, his feet and his back always aching, no time or energy to paint. But looking at Bucky sitting there in the sunshine, cheekbones sharp and lips parted, Steve felt a little lurch of panic. He might actually really like Bucky. 

‘I actually think we both have some similar issues, with asymmetry. When I looked into it I think my prosthetic might actually have given me a kind of scoliosis.’ Bucky gestured to his left arm. Steve wondered what it looked like. It must be pretty high tech. Bucky seemed to manage to move it almost like a regular arm.

‘So anyway, I thought yoga might be a good way to start, and some bodyweight exercises.’ Bucky looked at him shyly, eyes very blue today in the sunshine.

‘That sounds great, Buck,’ Steve smiled back, inwardly panicking as he realised what this brilliant exercise together plan of his would mean – watching Bucky do downward dog in little shorts.

Steve had brought this on himself.


	2. Good sense, innocence, cripplin' mankind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More time in the park. Tony helps out slightly. Steve starts to think maybe Bucky has some secrets. Fury is not so helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay updating. Generally I aim for Saturdays but life happened. Also, I have changed the chapter number but I promise it will only be four chapters. A lot happened in this one!

Bucky was bone tired. Literally in the bones of his shoulder and chest where the arm attached. The metal tugged at his skeleton, pulling him askew in a way he had become more aware of since exercising with Steve.

He had been right - both of them had spines that curved and bent too far one way and not enough in another. Bucky had become more aware of it now, even on missions. His loping walk, the patterns of his movement while fighting.

And the mission today had been another Hydra base, another head struggling to be born. There was a chair in a bunker under a strip mall in New Mexico. When Bucky saw it, pain flared not just through his shoulder and back, but through his head, the nerve endings that had been so abused by this chair and hundreds like them spread across the world.

Tony had come in to find him standing staring at the chair and raised his arm and blasted the twisted machine beyond recognition.

'Nothing to learn from that,' Tony's voice said in Bucky's ear, and he moved over to the data banks.

It was that unexpected act that had Bucky following Tony out of the debrief room and calling after him.

Tony turned, brow furrowed.

'What?' He eyed Bucky distrustfully.

Bucky took a deep breath to fortify himself, thinking of Steve in the sunshine in the park in one of his loose tank tops, pale skin pinkening, small freckles dusting his shoulders.

'Um, since I'm living out in the world now, and it's been getting hotter, it looks a bit weird for me to be wearing gloves all the time.' Bucky gestured at his metal arm with his other hand.

Tony stared at it, processing. Obviously, Tony always saw him with the metal arm on display, so probably didn't even think about what Bucky wore when he was in civilian mode.

'You wear gloves to cover the metal because you're pretending not to be the Soldier?'

Bucky winced a little at the _pretending_ , but nodded. 'It was fine in winter, but it's so hot now it draws attention. I was wondering if you could do some sort of sleeve for the arm. It's probably better that it looks fake, because if you touch the arm it's obvious it's not real. Just something that makes it look like a prosthetic.'

'Who's touching your arm robot?' Tony asked, but his heart wasn't in it and he didn't even notice Bucky's blush, eyes flickering over Bucky's arm, working on the problem.

'It would still look pretty good for a prosthetic,' Tony mused. 'Maybe I should start a prosthetic program so you could just say you were part of that. Jarvis - remind me to talk to Pepper about starting a prosthetic program and announcing it. Veterans, kids, eventually everyone.'

Tony started to walk away. 'Come by the lab tomorrow and I'll have a sleeve for you.'

'Thanks Stark,' Bucky called. Tony didn't respond.

Bucky changed and went straight to meet Steve. He found him sitting on their usual bench, with a sketch book open, tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth.

Bucky allowed himself a moment of watching the way Steve’s blond hair fell across his face, the freckles on his nose, the constant jiggling of his right leg while his left, on which the book was resting, held so still.

‘Hi Steve,’ Bucky approached, giving warning. Steve looked up, distracted at first, then clear blue eyes focusing.

‘Hi Bucky.’

‘You draw?’ Bucky asked, sitting beside Steve, politely not looking at the sketch.

‘Yeah,’ Steve turned slightly pink. ‘I actually went to art school. I paint and I sketch, but it’s hard to make money. So, you know, the coffee shop.’ He brightened and reached under the bench.

‘Speaking of coffee, I know you were coming from work so I brought you a cold brew. Sam said you’d like it, and it obviously doesn’t matter if it’s cold.’ Steve handed Bucky the drink, and proudly displayed his own milky (oat milk of course Bucky knew) version.

Bucky was so delighted, he only just remembered to say thank you.

‘You should show me some of your pictures sometime Steve, I’d like to see them.’

‘Have a look through here,’ Steve handed him the book.

‘Are you sure?’ Bucky took it like the treasure it was, gazing seriously at the cover. He flipped through slowly, admiring the sketches. The trees, the skies were beautifully rendered in pencil lines and cross hatch. But it was the people that were special – Steve captured them in movement. Laughing, frowning, running, crying, playing. Everyone in Steve’s pictures was a _verb_ , in motion. _People_.

‘Steve, these are amazing,’ Bucky said, eyes lingering on each figure. No wonder Steve was so good for Bucky – he knew all about people _being_. Bucky’s eyes paused on a picture of – was it him? A figure walking, across the grass, upright and relaxed, the beginning of a smile on his face.

‘You drew me!’

Steve rubbed his neck and kicked his feet a little. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No Steve, thank you. It’s been a long time since I… Since anyone saw me, I guess.’

‘Oh Bucky, don’t you have any family?’ Steve reached out his hand, but stopped short of Bucky’s shoulder, unsure.

‘Not anymore. I had a sister, but she died last year and… Well we hadn’t seen each other for a long time. Then it was too late.’ Bucky stared down at the picture of that person that Steve saw when he looked at Bucky.

‘My mum died five years ago,’ Steve said quietly. ‘It was just her and me, because my dad died when I was a baby.’ Steve’s hand rested just next to Bucky’s leg. ‘It was really hard, and I still miss her, but Sam and my other friends helped a lot. You just need some people around you.’

Bucky moved his hand next to Steve’s, his right hand, and pressed a gloved finger against Steve’s pinky. He was so glad he had asked Tony about the sleeve. 

‘I have one friend, and maybe now, two?’ He looked shyly at Steve, who smiled that priceless glowing smile and replied: ‘Of course Bucky, if you’re asking if I’m number two.’

Later Bucky thought that maybe admitting you only had one other friend wasn’t such a smooth move, but it was too late, and Steve had smiled, so it couldn’t be too bad.

\-----

Steve was running late, skipping a little as he hurried across the park, scanning for Bucky. And... _oh fuck_... there he was, doing a _handstand_ over by the pond, magnificent legs reaching for the sky, little shorts revealing that part of his thighs where the muscles curved in again, the soft skin of his inner thigh, the dip of his leg joint.

Steve slowed a little, willing his dick to settle down. Why had he thought tights were a good idea? Sure, they showed of his small but perky ass, which in Steve's mind was his best (only) feature. But they would also show off his swelling erection.

Which was refusing to respond because Bucky was wearing a _tank top_. A yellow tank top tucked into his shorts with a print on the front Steve couldn't make out from here.

Bucky must have caught sight of him, because he dropped over into a backbend and gracefully pushed up to standing.

Steve held his yoga mat across his crotch, grinning and waving in response to Bucky. As Steve got closer, he could see that Bucky's tank top had an outline of a unicorn head with a rainbow over it. That had to be a message, right?

'Bucky!' Steve said. 'I love your top.'

Bucky smiled, his hair up in a little bun which was adorably disheveled.

'I um, thought about what you said last week about it being fine to show my arm,' Bucky gestured nervously with his left arm.

Steve had been so overwhelmed by all of that exposed flesh, he had totally forgotten about Bucky's prosthetic.

'Wow, Bucky, that's a really sophisticated prosthetic.' Steve examined it. It certainly didn't look like a real arm, but the flesh coloring even seemed to match Bucky's skin tone. It was smooth and perfect in a way real skin wasn't, hairless and poreless. But it moved almost like a real arm, bending and flexing at all the joints.

'Yeah, I'm part of an experimental program run by Stark Industries. That's one reason I could start showing it - Stark is going to announce it today, so it's not hush hush anymore.'

'Can I touch it,' Steve looked up at Bucky, feeling strangely shy.

'Of course,' Bucky held out his arm, smiling gently at Steve. Bucky's arm was soft under his fingers, but he could feel that the softness was only skin deep. The arm was unyielding.

'Can you feel much?' Steve asked, still running his fingers up and down Bucky's forearm, across his palm. In the tank top you could see that the prosthetic came right up to Bucky's shoulder, and Steve could see angry scars running from the join.

'Pressure, and now with the cover Stark's experimenting with other sensations as well. They're just low level at the moment.'

Steve reluctantly let his hand drop.

'But it's still heavy?'

Bucky nodded. 'That's part of the next phase - finding lighter materials. Stark wants to make them for kids, and those will need to be really light.'

Steve stared at Bucky stupidly for a moment, lingering on those heavy dark eyelashes, the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Shall we get started?'

Bucky nodded and smiled, and Steve spread out his mat, the hot feelings in his crotch having moved to warm sticky feelings in his chest which were more uncomfortable but less obvious.

Those feelings continued, warm and languid and fresh like the early summer day, as they ran through their downward dogs and planks, moved in time through their standing poses. Steve was working on his pushups - Bucky had him doing them at an incline with his hands on a bench.

'You're getting so much better,' Bucky exclaimed when Steve managed three sets of five. 'You'll be up to eight in no time and you can start reducing the incline.'

Then Steve's favorite part of their sessions, when Steve sat on the bench and Bucky sat crossed legged in front of him, head bent forward. Steve had once suggested Bucky could lie down, but Bucky said he preferred to be able to scan his surroundings.

It was a shame, because Steve could feel the tightness in Bucky's muscles ran further down, doubtless through his glutes and into his thighs. It wasn't (just) because Steve wanted to get his hands on those thighs.

Today after working on Bucky's neck and upper back for a while, Steve asked hesitantly, 'Could I massage your scalp? Is that okay.'

'Of course,' Bucky replied, tugging his yellow pineapple hair tie out. Steve pushed his fingers into Bucky's luscious brunette locks. His hair was just as soft as Steve had imagined, and his head dropped forward so sweetly as Steve massaged his fingertips into his scalp.

Oh, and now he was making a contented growling sound in his throat as Steve worked his fingers up to the crown of his head, across to his temples. Those soft sounds were going straight to that warm place inside Steve. Purring - Bucky was purring. Steve was probably going to expire right here and now.

Steve finished with a few strokes across Bucky's head.

'Thanks Stevie, that was amazing,' Bucky said quietly, turning his head a little so Steve could see his smile.

'Anytime,' squeaked Steve.

\-----

Bucky was leaving the change rooms in the SHIELD headquarters, reveling in the soft touch of cotton against his skin after 52 hours in his gear. His sweatpants and t-shirt were black – he was still partially in Soldier mode after all – but it wouldn’t be long before he was home on his couch with blankets. 

Then tomorrow he had a workout with Steve in the park. This appointment – he tried not to call it a date even in his head, particularly given his sense that dates should involve more dressing up and hair products – had inspired him to bring a decisive end to their mission.

It had looked like the rogue terrorist they were engaging with, who had got hold of some alien hardware, was going to drag on the fight on, playing hide and seek through New York with his apparently lethal tech. Even when they had identified his location, he had been hiding in the crowds in Times Square. SHIELD was talking about calling in Tony, trying to build a suppression device, keeping his contained. SHIELD was talking about _at least 24 hours_.

Bucky was not having that. He sent Natasha into the crowd, who found the guy in no time, hand in the pocket of a jacket that was too warm for the weather. Bucky kept watch until the guy moved close enough to the building Bucky was lurking on for him to drop straight on top of the guy and relieve him of his device. Fury had not been happy, and there was quite a lot of Winter Soldier clips circulating on the internet, but Bucky reckoned if they'd left the guy for 24 hours he would have got twitchy and set it off.

_Whatever_ , as the young people said.

‘Hello James,’ Natasha materialized in front of him. ‘Any plans tonight?’

Bucky shook his head. ‘Just a hot date with three fleece blankets and a quilt, and maybe some cartoons.’

‘Interesting. Disney?’

‘No, someone,’ Bucky tried not to blush, but was fairly sure Natasha has some sort of heat sensor in her eyeballs that picked up slight changes in the temperature of his skin. He cleared his throat. You are a feared assassin. ‘Someone recommended these Japanese cartoons to me.’

Natasha angled her head a little. ‘Will they make you cry?’

‘Make _me_ cry? I see your eyes getting damp in Dumbo. Anyway, apparently some of them will, but he recommended this one called _My Neighbor Totoro_ and said that was just happy, so I was going to try that. You wanna come over?’

‘I guess so,’ Natasha sounded like she couldn’t care one way or the other, but if the invitation had happened it was because she wanted it to. She wandered off, saying she’d be by with snacks.

When Bucky got home he turned on his non-work phone, which contained only one number.

One text from Steve.

_Hey Bucky its gonna rain tomorrow we’ll have to postpone :-(_

Bucky made a little wounded sound, feeling the disappointment clench around his chest. He checked the weather and yes, it was going to be very wet. A little part of him was relieved Steve wasn’t just blowing him off, but Bucky judged that part for thinking too little of Steve. Bucky might be a giant, super-serumed mess, but Steve had never been anything but sweet to him.

Bucky chewed his lip and looked around his apartment. It was clean, and colorful, and normal looking. He had pictures on the walls he found at secondhand stores and markets, he had lots of blankets, he had crockery and cutlery. He took a deep breath and replied to Steve.

\-----

Steve was experiencing that glorious, tortuous state where you have an enormous crush on someone, get to spend a fair bit of time in their presence and continually confirm and feed your desire, but at the same time remain uncertain and unconvinced that the feeling is mutual.

Steve was currently lying on the floor in his living room, staring at the ceiling trying to do deep breathing exercises while berating Sam for laughing at him.

‘Man, just because it’s raining tomorrow you didn’t have to cancel.’

‘ _Postpone_ Sam, I said _postpone_.’

‘Whatever,’ Sam threw a coffee bean at his head. Did he fill up his pockets with them just to throw at Steve? Or did he chew them? ‘You could’ve just suggested something else.’

Steve groaned and covered his face with his hands. He was really bad at this. He had thought about inviting Bucky over here, but the place was full of people and not totally clean, and Steve had a feeling that being in an apartment with a bunch of strange people was not going to move his massages to the next level.

Steve and Bucky had been meeting for two months now, and while Steve had in fact made some noticeable advances in terms of flexibility and ability to support his own body weight, the massage part of the deal had largely been confined to Steve massaging Bucky’s shoulders, neck and head.

Sure, the sound Bucky had made when Steve first hesitantly put his fingers into Bucky’s soft, thick, smooth hair and rubbed at his scalp was still the stuff of Steve’s waking dreams, and the accompaniment to many a frustrated session with his dick in hand. But Steve for both romantic and therapeutic reasons really thought that Bucky needed a more thorough going over.

‘He’s just too good for me Sam. He’s beautiful, he clearly has some sort of important government job. I can’t even suggest an activity that might cost money because I have none.’

Sam just shook his head affectionately. He was the only person in the entire world Steve would allow to see this level of insecurity. Mostly Steve worked on accepting himself as he was, and not accepting anything about the world that was wrong. Bucky had thrown him. Steve’s normal approach to a guy that big and good looking would be to alternate between aggressive flirting and jut regular aggression, but Bucky had been all shy and sweet and had so many pairs of colorful shorts… Steve groaned again and rolled onto his stomach. 

His phone chimed at him from beside him on the floor. He grabbed at it. He only had the sound turned on so he would know immediately if Bucky messaged him.

‘What does it say?’ Sam said. ‘You’re killing me here.’

Steve blinked a couple of times at the message.

‘He says I can come over to his place,’ Steve said in an awed tone. ‘In the morning. At 10. He says that he’ll make me coffee.’

Sam threw another coffee bean at him.

‘You’re in Steve.’

Steve quickly typed a response, so far past waiting a respectable time to reply. If he closed his eyes, he could picture Bucky laughing as Steve tried to get his limbs in some ridiculous yoga pose, his big kind hands guiding Steve and making him relax. Bucky in a handstand while he was waiting for Steve to arrive, so solid and still and strong. Bucky leaning into Steve’s hands after the massage was finished, just for a fleeting moment.

'Woaw, this is some crazy shit.' Sam was looking at his phone.

'What?' Steve didn't really think anything in the world was happening right now more exciting than him being invited to Bucky's house for coffee.

'It's an Avengers thing, up in New York. There's been some sort of situation, and it was all being kept hush hush. Some scientist in Times Square with a device he said would kill everyone in a 1000 foot radius, but no one who he was because he was hiding in the crowd in plain sight.'

'What happened? How did they stop him?'

'The Winter Soldier. This clip is nuts.'

Sam handed Steve the phone. It was a clip taken by somebody in the crowd, who was just filming the crowd, the square, then a dark figure just drops from above and lands on a guy in the crowd in a single movement taking him down, deftly snatching something from his hand and crushing it in his metal fist. Then he stands, hair hanging over his muzzled face, and throws the guys over his shoulder and stalks away, crowd parting for him. The person filming was gutsier than most and got a nice clear shot of the Soldier as he passed by.

Steve stared open mouthed. That walk, the hair, the thighs.

'He looks like Bucky.' Is Bucky?

'You think your squishy bear looks like the Winter Soldier?' Sam laughed. 'I guess they are both pretty thot, but the Soldier is _mean_ man. Look at him. Your Bucky is like a thicc marshmallow.'

Steve played the video again. The Winter Soldier moved with a deadly grace and self-assurance that seemed to at odds with Bucky and the shy incline of his head. But there was something about the walk that suggested Bucky sauntering towards him across the park or entering the coffee shop with a cautious gaze.

Steve handed Sam back his phone, and picked up his own, searching for Winter Soldier clips on YouTube.

Those steely blue eyes would occasionally catch a camera, gazing out above a dark muzzle. What if they were warmed by a smile, if those eyes crinkled?

Steve's breath caught in his chest. He _knew_ it was the same person.

\-----

‘Is that cat a bus?’ Asked Natasha, wrapped up in Bucky’s green blanket and his purple blanket.

‘Or the bus is a cat,’ Bucky responded.

‘This is amazing,’ Natasha said. ‘Everything is so magical.’ She was trying to sound shocked and appalled, but totally failing.

After watching the film, which did not make them cry, they watched another one about a young witch who delivered things on her broomstick.

‘So, who is this person who recommended these magical films to you?’ Natasha had stopped even trying to sound cynical, given it was pretty clear that she now wished she had a broomstick and a cat that talked to her.

Bucky looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Natasha had not originally been a part of his being a person project. She was, after all, a workmate, a warrior, a killer like him. But here she was now, watching films with him, no makeup on, hair in a ponytail, wrapped in his blankets. People had friends and told them things.

‘I met him at a coffee shop I go to. His name is Steve, and we hang out sometimes and do yoga and stuff.’ Bucky shrugged, as if making an independent contact/acquaintance/friend(?) was not a big deal. They both knew it was a monumental deal.

Natasha maintained a strategic silence.

‘He’s, um, coming over tomorrow because normally we meet in the park but it’s raining.’ 

Bucky waited for Natasha to say that he shouldn’t have civilian friends, that he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t hurt Steve, that he shouldn’t bring him into his house, that he wasn’t really actually a person.

But she smiled at him softly and said, ‘That’s great James. I’d like to meet him one day.’

Then they cleaned up their pile of chocolate wrappers and as she was leaving Natasha leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

'Just try to be as honest with you as you can, Bucky, if you really want to be his friend.' Natasha looked a little sad, and Bucky touched her arm gently as she left the room.

\-----

Steve was feeling nervous as he made his way to Bucky's place, clutching his umbrella. They didn’t live too far away from one another, which surprised Steve. He'd assumed Bucky would live closer to the coffee shop.

Should he ask Bucky about the Winter Soldier thing? Maybe it was a secret identity, and he couldn't tell anyone. Steve didn't want to blow his cover.

But Steve was struggling to integrate that cold, distant figure capable of such feats of violence with his ( _not his_ ) soft, gentle Bucky. Two irreconcilable people seemed to inhabit the same body. Was Bucky lying to Steve? But why? He was an underemployed artist-barista of no consequence at all to the world. The Winter Soldier was a mysterious hero with a potentially villainous past with super strength who had a _lot_ of both fans and enemies on the internet.

Steve had seen some things he could never unsee - mostly when he had got down a porn lookalike hole. There also seemed to be a significant number of people who shipped the Soldier with Iron Man and/or the Black Widow.

Steve really should have got more sleep.

When he arrived at Bucky's door he took a deep breath, umbrella in hand and backpack on back. He knocked.

Some rustling inside and then the door swung open. Bucky's hair was down, tucked behind his ears. He was wearing soft sweatpants and a flannelette shirt open over a t-shirt.

'Steve,' Bucky grinned wide and delighted. All of Steve's doubts and worries burned away under the warmth of that smile. Even if Bucky were the Winter Soldier, Steve trusted there was some moment, some story, that would bring everything together. Steve - who knew he was spiky and angry and hard to love - trusted Bucky completely; he made Steve feel softer and sweeter and safer.

'Hi Buck,' Steve smiled back, warm and glowing.

Bucky ushered him in to the modest living room, furnished with a couch and an armchair, a large TV, a colourful rug on the floor and a pretty significant blanket and cushion collection on every available surface.

Bucky looked nervous. 'Welcome to my home, Stevie.' He blushed a little. 'I don't have many guests.'

'It's lovely Bucky. I live with like twenty people at any given time, even though there's only meant to be six of us in the house. This is lovely and peaceful.'

Bucky lead him through into the kitchen, where he fussed around making coffee with a percolator. Freshly ground beans. Sam would approve.

He passed Steve milk and sugar, and they went back into the lounge room and settled on the couch.

'So, coffee.' Steve said, suddenly a little awkward, aware he had spent five hours last night cyber stalking Bucky's potential/likely alter ego. 'Are we actually going to exercise today?' he grinned at Bucky, trying to lighten his own mood.

Bucky laughed too, pushing an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. He looked down into his cup of coffee and took a long gulp.

'Actually, there's something I want to tell you Steve.' Bucky put the cup down, and placed his hands on his thighs, kneading gently. 'I really like you Steve, and I want to be honest with you.'

Steve's heart was stuck in his ribs, preventing him from breathing. He too put his coffee mug down, watching Bucky carefully.

Bucky seemed to be thinking about saying something more, but decided to proceed without preamble. He shucked off his flannel shirt, revealing he was in fact wearing a black tank top. It was strange to see him in a muted shade (though the Soldier wore black, Steve's mind provided).

'Steve, I'm going to show you my arm.' Without looking him in the arm, Bucky reached to where the prosthetic met his scarred flesh. He pressed on something and then peeled off the layer of false skin, revealing in a swift motion the glistening metal arm.

Steve's breath caught again, and he couldn't say anything, even though he could see Bucky's eyes looking down, his lips pressing in a pained line.

‘I’m the Winter Soldier,’ Bucky whispered huskily, voice thick. ‘SHIELD let me… they let me out about six months ago.’ His hands were digging into his thighs – one flesh, one metal. Steve could see marks on the metal near the shoulder where it looked like something had been scratched off.

‘The important thing for you to know Steve is that I’m not a hero. There’s a lot I can’t tell you…’ Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. Steve wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, but he was frozen, suspended. ‘But I can tell you that I was in an organisation for a long time, that did a lot of bad things. _I_ did a lot of bad things.’

Bucky looked down at his hands, hair falling like a shadow across his face, blocking him from Steve.

Steve reached out, as if through a viscous liquid, uncertain, and gently touched Bucky’s metal hand, like he had touched it the other day when it was covered. Bucky drew a sharp breath and didn’t move as Steve gently interlaced their fingers.

‘I know Bucky, I guessed.’

‘You guessed?’ Bucky said in a small voice.

‘I saw the footage from New York and I recognised you.’ Steve, gathering his courage, used his other hand to tuck Bucky’s hair back behind his ear, so Steve could see his pale face and furrowed brow. ‘I don’t know exactly what you’ve done Bucky, but I know you now, I know you’re good. And the Winter Soldier mostly seems to save people.’

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. ‘The Soldier didn’t, Steve. The Soldier killed a lot of people, a lot of good people. And that was still me.’

Steve sat for a moment, feeling the cool metal of Bucky’s hand, hearing the quick sobbing breaths he was taking.

‘Bucky, I’m taking you as you are now, okay. I hope one day you can tell me, but you don’t have to.’

Bucky finally looked at him, eyes so blue, almost green from the light refracting through the tears sitting on the surface waiting to spill.

‘Steve,’ Bucky sobbed, and Steve flung his arms around Bucky’s bulk, feeling his tiny body to be inadequate for the amount of comfort he wanted to fold around Bucky. He felt the wet of Bucky’s tears as he buried his head in Steve’s shoulders, folding himself up into Steve’s chest.

Steve rocked him back and forth, stroking his hair, whispering _Bucky Bucky Bucky_ over again with hot breath in his ear, planting small kisses on his head, on his temples, not even realising what he was doing.

Then Bucky turned to him with those blue eyes shining, his face wet and lips pink and Steve leaned in and kissed him. Bucky’s lips were so soft and welcoming, just like Bucky, tasted of salt tears and coffee and a sweet undertone. Steve kissed him gently, reverently at first, feeling Bucky’s sobs subside, his hand reach up to clasp the side of Steve’s head.

Bucky moaned, soft and throaty, like the sound he made when Steve’s fingers were in his hair. Steve flicked his tongue over the parting seam of his lips and Bucky held Steve tighter. They were kissing harder, more intensely, tongues sliding over one another, bodies pressing. Steve whimpered a little, overwhelmed by the soft touch of Bucky’s lips, the warmth of the inside of his mouth, the slight scratch of his stubble across Steve’s skin.

Steve broke the kiss for a moment, pushing Bucky back into the couch and swinging his leg over so he was in Bucky’s lap, taking Bucky’s face in both his hands and gazing into his eyes. They were both panting. Steve could hear his hear pounding in his chest, feel Bucky’s pulse racing in his jaw.

‘Bucky, am I… Am I being too much, too intense? I know I can be, and I don’t want to… I don’t want to hurt you.’ Steve was trembling – his heart about to burst out of his thin chest.

‘Stevie, no,” Bucky rested his left hand on Steve’s shoulder, his right on Steve’s heart, as if he sensed the banking fire raging there. ‘Who told you that? You are perfect, in every way.’ Bucky’s eyes were darker now, his pupils large and the ring of blue stormy.

‘Steve, there are so many ways life can take the things you love from you – this is – this is perfect.’ And Bucky pulled Steve close again, wrapping him in those powerful arms. Super powerful, Steve now realised, understanding now the scale of the coiled strength in Bucky’s body, that carried the heavy weight of a metal arm and whatever darkness Bucky couldn’t tell him (yet).

So Steve unleashed the full force of his heart in his kisses, feeling Bucky simultaneously yield to Steve’s desperate kisses and match his intensity. Steve was grinding down on Bucky’s lap, could feel the hard line of his cock under his sweatpants.

‘Bucky, can I,’ Steve tugged at the bottom of Bucky’s top, and Bucky raised his arms, allowing Steve to pull it over his head. The expanse of Bucky’s chest was glorious, thick and muscular, a fine trail of dark hair meandering across his pectoral muscles and down across his abs and disappearing into his sweatpants. Steve ran his eyes and his hands across those miles of soft skin, firm muscles.

‘You too,’ breathed Bucky. Steve blushed and tugged his t-shirt off, feeling bashful but not at all afraid of showing himself to Bucky.

‘You’re so beautiful Steve,’ Bucky too traced patterns across Steve’s hairless torso – the lines of his ribs, the dip of his stomach.

Their lips collided again and this time the sensation of flesh against flesh was almost too much for Steve, his own cock straining against his tights. He reached down and tugged at Bucky’s waistband. He raised his hips slightly and Steve managed to pull the sweatpants down, freeing Bucky’s cock.

Steve look down and… oh… Bucky was beautiful. His cock curved large and thick from a thatch of dark public hair. Steve’s mouth was watering, but it was all too much, he was too close. His whole body was overwhelmed by Bucky.

He rose up on his knees and pulled his tights down his thighs, his own cock smaller and thinner, but red and leaking. Bucky was gazing at it like it was _perfect_ , just like he’d said.

Steve lined their cocks up and started rolling his hips. Bucky groaned, looking down at where pale flesh pressed so close. Bucky reached out a hand, a little hesitant, as though trying to recall how to move. But then his flesh fist closed around their cocks, smearing pre come across the heads then working in rhythm with Steve’s hips, with the upwards thrust of Bucky’s thighs, sending thrills through Steve’s spine, both of them panting and moaning.

‘ _Stevie, Stevie,_ ’ Bucky murmured like a prayer, eyes flicking from where their bodies moved together to Steve’s face. But Steve’s eyes were fixed on Bucky’s face, which shifted in patterns of delight and wonder. Steve felt their breath quickening together, their thrusts becoming faster, more erratic.

‘Yes, Bucky, yes,’ Steve breathed, and Bucky came with a shudder and a cry, fist closing tight around their cocks and pumping hard, Steve falling over the edge just after him, trembling and collapsing down onto Bucky.

Their bodies pressed sweaty and damp together, holding each other fast, as if they let go they might vanish from this quiet room. Bucky was pressing tiny kisses onto Steve’s head. After an infinite time, Bucky pulled them down to lie across the couch, using his flannel shirt to wipe them down and covering them with blankets and propping cushions all around. Steve just allowed himself to be moved around, ending up happily cocooned next to Bucky.

‘I would never have predicted the blankets,’ he murmured, nuzzling into Bucky’s neck.

Bucky chuckled, and Steve shivered at the rumble in his chest.

‘The three best things I discovered in the month after I moved out were cushions, blankets and chocolate,’ Bucky said. ‘Then in the second month I discovered coffee and you.’

‘Smooth lines, superhero,’ Steve said sleepily, and Bucky pulled him impossibly closer.

\-----

Bucky had a spring in his step as he walked though the corridors to Fury’s office. He was starting to feel right again. Being with Steve was _right_. The ghost of the old Bucky, who no one alive today knew or remembered, had almost fallen silent – no more ghosts of pickup lines echoing in his head. That Bucky had instead left him the gift of muscle memory – how to kiss, how to touch someone to draw a moan of pleasure from their mouth. Bucky no longer felt haunted by that boy.

The Soldier was still an uncomfortable presence, but telling Steve had been _good_. And Steve had guessed, had said those magical words _I’m taking you as you are now_.

Fury’s assistant waved him in, the usual look of suspicion on his face, but Bucky _now_ could let it wash over him.

‘Barnes,’ Fury nodded from his desk. ‘Take a seat.’

Bucky sat upright, hands resting on his knees.

‘Barnes, I’ll cut to the chase.’ Fury frowned and clasped his hands together on the desk. ‘We’re going to have to ask you to stop socialising with this Steve Rogers individual.’

Bucky froze, not breathing or blinking. No.

‘We’ve been monitoring, and your meetings with him have been reported to the Review Board, who has agreed that intensive socialization with a particular civilian is not advisable. They are concerned you could pose a threat to him.’

Bucky exhaled slowly, collecting the fragments of agony together and wrapping them tightly, like he had taught himself over so many years. He allowed himself a brief moment to feel the agonising joy that he had at least grasped those moments with Steve, had not pulled back, had not lied.

He inhaled, letting himself feel the ache in his bones, the old fire that flared sometimes in his scars.

‘You can continue to live outside, of course, avoid this level of interaction with particular individuals. You might need to move – I understand he’s come to your house.’

The surveillance was part of his release conditions, so Bucky had tolerated it. He had interfered with all the devices in his apartment, so they got nothing from there, but they could see who was coming and going.

‘I will move,’ Bucky said evenly, coldly.

Fury nodded thoughtlessly, obviously already moving on to some other issue to discuss with Bucky.

‘I’ll move back into headquarters, into the apartment cell.’

‘No need for that,’ Fury barked.

‘Sir,’ Bucky said, in his own voice, not the Soldiers, but even and icy like the Soldier’s. ‘If you and the Board don’t want me to have friends, I think we can all abandon the pretense that I’m a free man. If I’m such a danger to one individual, I’m a danger to everyone I encounter.’

‘That’s not what – ‘ Fury broke off as Bucky rose from his chair, schooling his mask, the one he wore under the muzzle.

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll arrange things with your assistant.’

Bucky turned his heel and left, briefly giving instructions to the man at the desk and then walking down the corridor.

He found Natasha in the training room, and she turned to him with a smile that fell immediately.

‘James?’ she asked, face moving to her _who do I need to kill_ expression.

Bucky opened his arms and she stepped into them and hugged him tightly, rocking him as he cried, not caring who saw them on the ever-watching cameras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments and kudos! Shrinkyclinks lovers are sweethearts.
> 
> Sorry about the angst, but our boys will find a way I promise.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stuckyflangst)


	3. Occasions, persuasions clutter your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve have to say goodbye. Steve goes searching for allies. Tony discovers a few things, and reconsiders some of his opinions. Sam is confused. Things are a little bit sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new POVs in this chapter! I also realized I hadn't tagged Natasha is a good bro! A little bit of extra smut before our boys are (temporarily) separated.

The coffee shop was quiet, and Steve was dreamily sketching on a napkin – crinkled eyes, sharp cheekbones, a cleft chin. Bucky.

‘You’ve got love hearts floating around your head, Steve,’ Sam called from the coffee machine, where he was experimenting with milk ratios and temperatures for different non-dairy milks.

‘Shut up Sam,’ Steve said absentmindedly, checking his phone to see if he had a message from Bucky.

That first night they’d kissed, Steve had experienced something he’d never felt before – someone who matched his own intensity, who wasn’t afraid when Steve’s whole body trembled with the force of wanting. Bucky liked it. Said, _I like the way everything is important to you Steve_ , and wrapped Steve up in those strong, steady arms that could absorb all the energy radiating out of Steve’s body, hold him still.

Everything was terrible and amazing.

Steve’s phone buzzed in his had and he jumped. Bucky was calling, like Steve had conjured him.

‘Bucky?’

‘Steve.’ Bucky’s voice was low and pained.

‘What’s wrong, what’s wrong Bucky?’ Steve’s body tensed, going into defence mode.

‘Please come over Steve, I need to talk to you in person. I can’t….’ Bucky broke off, breathing heavily into the phone.

‘I’ll be right there.’ Steve shot a look at Sam, who nodded. It was quiet. Sam could take orders until Darcy came in later.

Steve raced out the back and grabbed his bag.

‘You’re still wearing your apron,’ Sam yelled after him as the door banged shut behind him.

Steve darted through the streets, wishing Bucky lived closer, bur grateful they had been adding runs into their park sessions. His bag bounced on his back and his lungs heaved, but Bucky was in trouble. Something was _wrong_ , something the _Winter Soldier_ couldn’t deal with. Which meant it was something being strong couldn’t help with.

Steve had to slow to a walk a few times to catch his breath, and by the time he arrived and buzzed at Bucky’s door he had to take a few blasts of his puffer.

Bucky had his door open when Steve came barrelling down the hallway, opening his arms wide for Steve to throw himself into. He was dressed in black tac pants and a black t-shirt, none of the colour and rainbows he usually wore. Bucky lifted Steve up of the ground and hugged him close.

‘Bucky, what’s wrong?’ Steve touched his face, peppering Bucky’s stubbly jaw with kisses. Bucky’s eyes were dark rimmed and red, like he had been crying.

Bucky pulled Steve into the apartment. Steve looked around in dismay at the packing boxes, the pictures taken off the walls.

‘Are you leaving? Are you going somewhere?’ Steve felt a sinking feeling in him stomach. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong. Maybe Bucky was just going.

‘They’re making me stop seeing you Steve.’ Bucky looked agonised.

‘Who? Who can do that?’ Steve asked, shocked. Bucky was a hero wasn’t he? How could they tell him what to do?

Bucky shrugged. ‘SHIELD, the government.’ He ran his hands through his hair, which was falling lose to his shoulders.

‘Steve, you remember how I said I’d done a lot of bad things.’

‘And I said I didn’t care,’ Steve responded fiercely, grabbing Bucky’s metal hand and squeezing it. Bucky smiled at him tiredly and reached out for Steve’s face with his other hand, calloused thumb tracing Steve’s bottom lip.

‘I know you don’t Steve. But the government hasn’t pardoned me for those things. I work for them, the Soldier works for them, and I only have as much freedom as they give me.’ Bucky’s voice cracked a little.

‘Have they charged you? Have they tried you?’ Steve’s fury was rising. What was Bucky? Their slave? Their weapon? He was a _person_ – a beautiful, broken-hearted person.

‘No.’ Bucky shook his head. ‘I think they think I’m more useful this way.’

‘So what are they doing? Are they locking you up because you spent time with me?’ Steve was squeezing Bucky’s hand so hard, the metal plates shifting as if to comfort him.

Bucky’s jaw hardened and his eyes took on a steely hue. Steve’s chest constricted as he suddenly saw it, saw how the implacable Winter Soldier fit together with his Bucky, the strength with the softness, the predators loping stride wrapped in rainbow colours. It all made sense – it was all Bucky.

‘They said I could just move. Be free as long as I didn’t get too close to any civilians. That I am a _threat_ to you.’ Bucky spat out the words and his arm whirred in sympathy.

‘You would never hurt me, never. Or anyone else who didn’t deserve it,’ Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s sold torso, shaking with anger.

Bucky sighed a little and stroked Steve’s hair. ‘I said I didn’t want to play at pretending I was free. I’m going back into the holding area they had for me in SHIELD headquarters. It’s not so bad, not a cell, but I’m not going to let them pretend they’re being generous with me.’

Steve pulled back, nodding. ‘Good move, that’s the right thing to do. Otherwise they can pretend they haven’t been restricting your movement at all.’

Suddenly Steve stopped, fearful. ‘You’re not just going to let them do this Bucky? You’re not giving up are you?’ Steve clenched his fists by his side. Of course he would fight for Bucky, no matter what, but what if Bucky wouldn’t fight this, wouldn’t fight for… them? Steve barely let himself think the last thought, vines of doubt weaving through his chest. There was a them, right?

But when he looked up at Bucky, those perfect full lips were set in a determined line, those eyes that seemed so much older, like they had seen a century pass by, were fixed on Steve full of molten iron.

‘I’m not giving up Steve. You are the best person I have ever met. I know this is too early, because I checked the internet and that’s what it said, but I love you Steve, and I’m not giving up on that.’

Steve sobbed and reached for Bucky again, feeling himself lifted up again and wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist.

‘I love you too Bucky,’ Steve said, kissing Bucky hard and tasting his own tears, Bucky’s own sweet taste, the desperate hot warmth of their tongues and lips.

‘Steve,’ Bucky groaned against Steve’s throat, biting and sucking against Steve’s racing pulse.

‘When are they coming to take you?’ Steve asked breathlessly, his cock hardening against Bucky’s firm, warm stomach.

‘In an hour,’ Bucky replied, sucking Steve’s collarbone.

‘Plenty of time to make a plan,’ Steve squeezed his thighs together tighter and moaned as Bucky responded with an answering squeeze of his ass. ‘I’m good at plans. Because I don’t have muscles.’

‘You’ve got muscles, Stevie,’ Bucky growled, squeezing again.

Bucky took a few quick strides and Steve found himself on his back on the kitchen bench, at a perfect height for Bucky to rub the bulge in his tac pants against the matching bulge in Steve’s jeans.

They were kissing, rough and messy, teeth knocking and tongues darting hungrily.

‘I want you Bucky,’ Steve was clear and certain. ‘I want you to fuck me now, and think about it when I’m not there. I want to feel you tomorrow when you’re gone.’

Bucky looked at him, eyes black with lust but shining with tears, his hands gripping Steve’s hips tightening a little, just enough to leave bruises.

‘Please,’ Steve whispered.

Bucky was gone for just a moment, enough to leave Steve a little cold, moan a little for his return. Then he was back, kissing Steve’s neck, rucking Steve’s shirt up to suck on each nipple, tender and sharp, kiss down the hollow of Steve’s belly.

Bucky was pulling his own shirt off, revealing the strong, scarred planes of his chest, that sprinkle of dark hair.

‘You’re still wearing your apron,’ he smiled at Steve, gently tugging at the tie and throwing the apron aside, pulling Steve’s jeans off with a few quick motions, removing his boxer briefs reverently, eyes roaming over Steve. Steve felt him self flushing, squirming, so vulnerable and exposed.

Then Bucky was dropping his own pants and stood there between Steve’s legs, all glorious thighs and thick, glistening dick.

‘One day we’ll do this slowly, Steve.’ Bucky reached out and Steve heard the click of a lube bottle. Bucky leaned over him, trailing kisses over Steve’s face and collarbone as a wet finger circled Steve’s rim, making him shiver and whine.

Bucky was pressing a finger inside and Steve bore down on it, hungry to be filled with Bucky.

‘Steve, Steve, Steve,’ Bucky was repeating, voice filled with wonder. Wonder for _him_. Steve still felt disbelief that this beautiful man could want him so much, but his heart was open, unguarded now and he just held Bucky’s shoulders and moaned as he filled him with two fingers, three.

‘Now, Bucky, now. I’m ready. I want to feel you tomorrow, remember?’ Steve whispered huskily.

He felt the tears rising as Bucky pressed so gently at his hole, lube slicked and open, then slowly, with a series of small thrusts, each moving deeper into Steve, started to fuck him.

Steve gripped his legs around Bucky’s waist, feeling the cool of the bench on his spine. His crooked spine, his crooked body, that Bucky _loved_. Bucky was gasping too, thrusting deeper, finally burying himself up to the hilt, filling Steve entirely.

‘Yes, Bucky, yes.’ Then they were moaning together as Bucky fucked into Steve hard but gentle. Bucky shifted a little, moving Steve’s legs and angling his hips and, _oh_ , there, sending a jagged bolt of pleasure through Steve’s spine, his cock. And again and again. Steve was crying out, sobbing, _please Bucky yes please please_.

‘So good Steve, you feel so good,’ Bucky gasped raggedly, meeting Steve’s eyes, tears gathered in his long dark lashes.

Then Bucky’s hand was curling around Steve’s cock, stick with lube, jerking him off in time with Bucky’s thrusts, and Steve was coming, Bucky was coming, filling Steve up and Steve’s come covered their bellies.

‘I love you, I love you so much Steve Rogers,’ Bucky’s eyes were blue again, clear like the sky, gazing down on Steve, enveloping him.

‘I love you too, Bucky… Hang on, what’s your surname.’

Bucky laughed with delight, sounding so young and carefree it almost broke Steve’s heart. ‘Barnes, my name is James Buchanan Barnes.’ They stared at one another in silence for a while.

‘I guess we should clean up.’ Bucky said finally.

‘And make a plan,’ Steve replied, then blushed with pleasure as Bucky ran his thumb across his lip again, looking at Steve like he was the most beautiful thing ever.

\-----

Tony was having a very weird day. First, he’d had to go to DC to see a bunch of stupid politicians. Pepper made him go every few months, when she needed him to upset some people. She said she didn’t even need to give him instructions, he just did it naturally.

So Tony had had some meetings, upset some people.

Then Nick Fury of course knew Tony was in town, so had insisted Tony come in to look at some plans – some stuff that the SHIELD techs were working on that were not, in fact, working. Whatever. Tony had looked at them, seen 117 ways to make them better, and told Fury a basic four things that would make them less terrible. He was out of the weapons business and wasn’t going to help SHIELD out however ‘good’ they claimed to be.

Tony knew how doubtful such claims were.

But that wasn’t the weird thing. The weird thing was that as he was leaving he ran into Barnes, Murderbot, Parent Killer, Brainwashed Assassin the Original and Absolute Worst. Barnes was in workout gear consisting of a pair of yellow hotpants (giving away more than Tony really needed to know about the man who murdered his parents) and pink Black Widow t-shirt.

Tony stopped up short and stared at Barnes.

‘Do you have an Iron Man t-shirt?’ he asked abruptly, surprising both of them.

‘No, I thought that would be disrespectful since you hate me,’ Barnes shrugged.

Tony nodded. ‘Considerate.’

They stared at one another for longer.

‘Why are you working out here?’ Tony asked. ‘I thought they let you out into the wild. Don’t you hate it here because they kept you imprisoned for like a year?’

Barnes seemed surprised again, at least that was what Tony thought that particular eyebrow twitch signalled. Maybe he was surprised Tony noticed how much Barnes hated being in here. Tony had in fact come in quite regularly, back then, to stare through the mirrored glass at the man who killed his parents.

He had been really fucking angry at first, and had stormed in demanding justice, a trial. Back then Barnes was nothing but a hollow shell – hair lank and eyes hollow and empty. He had been hard to be mad at.

It was only later when Barnes had started to come back to himself a bit, remember things, seem more like a person, that Tony had really started to be able to work on his hate. Once Barnes was a person it was easier to hold him responsible. Tony had helped with the arm, and reluctantly agreed with the ‘Redemption Plan’ Fury proposed, which seemed to involve deploying the Soldier as a weapon and getting him to kill the right kind of people, rather than the wrong kind.

Whatever.

‘I’m back again,’ Bucky replied, and Tony had to do the thing where he rewound his thoughts to the last point of dialogue in the conversation. A lot could happen in the two second it took someone to respond to him.

‘Did you hurt someone?’ Tony asked.

Bucky looked at him evenly. ‘No. I made a friend.’

‘A friend? But you didn’t hurt him?’

‘No. The Review Board didn’t like me being so close to a civilian.’

‘Who’s the Review Board?’ Someone no doubt had explained this to Tony, but he probably wasn’t listening. It sounded boring.

‘Some politicians and senior military and defence types.’ Barnes shrugged. ‘They set the conditions of my release and they decided it didn’t include actually getting to know people. Just wandering around in public and not talking to anyone.’

‘Who’s on it?’ Maybe this Board was a bit interesting.

‘I think it’s chaired by Secretary Pierce.’ Barnes had a complicated micro-expression that seemed to be confusion/suspicion/anger/pain.

‘Huh.’ Tony might check up with Pepper. Pierce was one of the people he had been sent to irritate today. The man was steely cold, but Tony had definitely got to him eventually. He was always trying to get Tony to build things that weren’t weapons but could pretty clearly be turned into weapons by a third-year engineering major.

‘Anyway, I’m heading back to my apartment slash containment area. See you Tony.’ Barnes walked away and Tony looked after him. Firstly, was that a joke Barnes just made. Second, was that a raspberry hair bobble?

The second weird thing was currently happening to Tony. After the weird meeting, Tony had headed back to the DC Start Industries HQ and lounged around in his office there, mulling over various (like 47) things on his mind.

Then the reception called saying that a Mr Steve Rogers was very insistent that he wanted to see Mr Stark and that the receptionist would find that Mr Stark wanted to see Mr Rogers if the receptionist just mentioned that it was about one James Buchanan Barnes.

And Mr Stark did very much want to see Mr Rogers after hearing that.

So now Tony was staring at a small, blond man who as far as Jarvis could ascertain was an artist who worked at a coffee shop.

‘So, you know Barnes,’ Tony said.

‘Yes, Bucky is my… friend,’ Steve replied.

Tony noticed the pause but decided not to think about that right now.

‘You’re the friend that Barnes wasn’t allowed to have?’ Tony had to admit he was surprised. He hadn’t really thought about what Barnes’ friend might be like, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have arrived at this slight, pretty, angry man.

‘So, you know about it? You know what they’ve done?’ Steve’s brow was furrowing and his fists were clenching. Angry.

‘I literally found out two hours ago,’ Tony waved a hand. ‘I don’t have that much to do with SHIELD, or the government. I don’t really like them very much, but sometimes there’s aliens and stuff and they need me.’

Tony stared at Steve, who stared back, apparently not intimidated at all by being in a room with the richest, smartest man in the world. Oh well, he was friends with (dating? Tony needed to think more about that) the Winter Soldier so he probably didn’t scare easily.

‘Do you know what he did?’ Tony asked, deciding if Steve wasn’t scared he wasn’t going to tiptoe. Not that he was good at that anyway.

‘He said he did a lot of bad things, and killed people.’ Steve stuck out his chin. ‘But I know that whatever he did he’s good now. He’s the best person I’ve ever met. And I came to you because he needs help, and I’ve seen you fighting with him, and even though he said it was a bad idea to come to you I decided it was worth a try.’

Huh. Barnes hadn’t even run the extenuating circumstances line, and this kid was still okay with him.

‘Well,’ said Tony, ‘I’m not his biggest fan because he murdered my parents.’ Steve’s eyes did widen a bit at that. ‘But it seems he’s been pretty honest with you, so what I’m going to do is give you some stuff to read, and if after that you still want my help we can talk.’

Tony asked Jarvis to set Steve up in the room next door with the Soldier files. Meanwhile, Tony decided to look into this Board.

A few hours later Steve reappeared, eyes red rimmed and nose pink.

Tony looked at him sympathetically. ‘It’s pretty bad, hey?’ Even Tony had to admit that. What Hydra had done to Sergeant James Barnes was appalling. That the man had survived, was walking around in hot pants and making friends was a testament to… something. Tony was trying not to think to hard about it, but it was hard with this Steve Rogers here looking all broken hearted and determined.

‘I know,’ Steve took a deep breath, ‘I know the Soldier killed your parents, but you can see, surely, that wasn’t Bucky. They, they _controlled_ him. And he feels so bad about it, even now.’ Steve suppressed a little sob.

Fuck. Tony was such a sucker. He closed his eyes and let all the instincts he had been tamping down surge up. James Barnes was really just a kid who went to war, got hurt, was lost and alone in this world except for this barista/artist/warrior and, of course, The Avengers. Really all Tony wanted in life was to adopt lost souls and shower them with gifts and technology, and yes, the Soldier had killed his parents, but Barnes hadn’t.

‘Okay,’ Tony said. ‘I think there’s more going on here than meets the eye.’

\-----

Sam was worried about Steve. Something had happened between him and Bucky, and while Steve said it wasn’t Bucky’s fault, Sam wasn’t so sure.

Steve wasn’t that lucky with guys. Or girls. Or anybody in a romantic context. His body was too small and his heart was too big, and people never seemed to want the particular Steve Rogers combo.

Also, the whole Bucky was the Winter Soldier thing had been weird, if brief. What was that about?

Sam heard a little noise coming from Steve and looked across at the woman who’d entered the coffee shop. She was kind of pretty, in an ordinary sort of way, mousy brown hair pulled back in a bun, glasses, wearing a lumpy, knitted orange sweater with a misshapen pumpkin on the front and a frumpy brown skirt with tights and sensible shoes.

‘What’s up,’ Sam sidled up to Steve, who was staring open mouthed at the woman.

‘Sam,’ Steve whispered urgently, ‘it’s the Black Widow.’

Sam guffawed. ‘Steve, you and your Avengers spotting. That is _not_ the Black Widow. The Black Widow is _hot_. That woman is just a regular nerd. Maybe a librarian?’

Steve shot him a withering glare. ‘You’re like one of those men in movies who doesn’t notice a woman is beautiful until she takes of her glasses and lets her hair down. Look _under_ the surface Sam.’

Sam snorted and went back to the coffee machine.

The woman ordered a large cappuccino, which Sam made quickly.

He watched as Steve took it over to her, and engaged her in conversation for about ten minutes, forcing Sam to take three orders and deliver two coffees to a table.

Sam glared at him.

Obviously she wasn’t the Black Widow, so Steve was probably talking to her about some nerd thing. Maybe she was an art historian. That sweater was arty right? It was still a while to Halloween. Sam really like Halloween.

Actually, she really was pretty, and her eyes were quick and clever. But the Widow had red hair right? That couldn’t be a wig, and who chose to have mousy brown hair?

Steve finally came back to the bar, not even apologizing, tapping his foot and staring into space, drumming his fingers on his pile of napkins with drawings of Bucky.

The woman finished her cappuccino, and on her way out dropped a note into the tip jar.

‘Nice coffee by the way,’ she said to Sam, smiling and giving him a little wink.

Fuck. Steve was getting to him.

She really did look like the Black Widow.

\-----

Bucky stretched out on the bed in his small bedroom. Just a single bed, because why would the Soldier need to share with someone, snuggle up with someone warm?

His hands were trembling a little and his breath was coming quickly.

He was starting to remember new things – things that hadn’t come back the first time the deprogrammed him.

Almost like someone had designed the deprogramming to select particular memories and leave others undisturbed.

To calm himself he thought of Steve. _I want you to fuck me now, and think about it when I’m not there._

‘Soon, Stevie, soon,’ Bucky whispered, closing his eyes to stop the tears falling, knowing the cameras always watched him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next (and final) exciting installment: What is the Review Board really up to? Will our heroes be reunited? Will Sam finally realize Steve is actually an expert Avenger spotter?
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely comments and kudos. Shrinkyclinks seems to bring out such delightful people ❤
> 
> Feel free to ask me anything, either here or where I incompetently use tumblr like the elder millennial I am: [stuckyflangst](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stuckyflangst)


	4. Dead kings, many things I can't define

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets visitors. The Avengers assemble. More knitwear. Will our heroes find each other again? An epilogue of kinds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I managed to miss Steve Roger's birthday (though I'm a bit of a fan of the headcanon that it's really in November). Not too late I hope. It's been a lovely journey.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, his single, scratchy blanket pulled across his knees. Part of him regretted not bringing his blankets in here with him. He had stored everything in a spare apartment in a block Clint (it turned out) owned. It had seemed better to leave his real life there, waiting for him, than bring things here. It would make it seem too permanent, make everything smell like this place.

But maybe he should have brought a couple of blankets.

The door hummed and clicked and he shot to his feet, standing relaxed and ready.

Then Rumlow stepped into the room. Bucky never liked him much – he stirred something unpleasant in his gut. A shadow.

Rumlow nodded. ‘Soldier.’

Bucky just stared at him. He wouldn’t answer to that.

Then a second man stepped in. Grey hair still showing hints of blond, face cold and handsome. He smelt of power. Bucky hated that smell.

Shadows whispered to him.

And then the man started to speak.

_Longing._

Bucky was frozen, breath slowing. The body went first.

_Rusted._

The horror stayed right to the end, he now knew, now remembered. Like the words gave him back his memories in the moments before they shut him down.

_Seventeen_.

But the times before (so many times) there had only been horrors to remember.

_Daybreak_.

This time Steve was there, warm in Bucky’s chest.

_Furnace._

The smell of cinnamon and coffee.

_Nine_.

The shadows were there too, though, and now they had names and faces.

_Benign_.

This had never been about freedom; redemption.

_Homecoming_.

No wonder Steve had worried them.

_One_.

They should be worried; they should fear him – he would set the world on fire.

_Freight car_.

‘Soldier, report status,’ Rumlow barked.

‘Ready to comply,’ the Soldier answered.

‘Good to see you again, Soldier,’ Pierce said with a smile.

\-----

Natasha sat contemplating the menu in the very tiny, very busy, very loud pizza restaurant. You could never guarantee that a place was completely free of listening devices, but you could guarantee that the level of ambient noise made it impossible to distinguish any one conversation. She was feeling warm and comfortable and on theme in her green sweater with a cheerful red and yellow pizza slice embroidered on the front.

If anyone asked why she wore them, she would have said that no one ever believed the Black Widow would wear such ugly sweaters. What she would never say was that being overlooked because she was wearing misshapen knitwear contributed to her sense of peace, that she preferred being invisible to being objectified, that she loved the warmth of the soft touch of the wool under her fingertips and the feeling of being wrapped in a loose and constant hug.

She didn’t look up when Steve slid in opposite her in the booth, but she did raise an eyebrow when Tony Stark squashed in next to him.

A lesser mortal would have asked how they knew each other, but Natasha only admitted ignorance in extreme situations.

‘You’ve decided Tony should be in on the plan?’ she asked instead.

Steve frowned slightly at Tony, who was wearing sunglasses inside again. I mean, obviously they weren’t just sunglasses, Natasha knew that. But still – the style choice was a deliberate one, so she was happy to hold Tony responsible.

‘Yes, but I also think we need a whole new plan,’ Steve sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘It looks like Bucky is in more danger than we thought.’

Natasha found it endearing that Steve called James that ridiculous nickname. Surprisingly, she found the whole James/Steve thing endearing. There was a trail Natasha had followed, starting with movie nights with James and his ludicrous blanket collection, and ending here with this small, angry man determined to tear down the world for a single, sad, traumatized ex-assassin. And it was a trail that seemed to be littered with a lot of hitherto unexplored _feels_ in her own apparently not so icy heart.

Natasha was impressed that she had been so thoroughly compromised by James Barnes and Steve Rogers. Though she was never going to admit it out loud.

Instead, she raised an eyebrow and waited for the boys to explain the situation to her.

Then as Steve pulled his hand away from his face she saw that his eyes were red and puffy, and his hand was trembling. His puffer was already out on the table, like a safety blanket, she suspected.

‘Oh Tony,’ she said softly, not able to pretend anymore, ‘you showed him the files.’

Steve looked down at the table, gripping the puffer, his blond fringe shielding his face.

Tony had the decency to look a bit shamefaced. ‘I just thought he should know what the Soldier had done.’

‘What was done to him,’ Steve said tightly.

The waitress appeared and Natasha smoothly ordered two pizzas none of them were going to eat.

'The thing is,' Tony said, taking off the glasses, 'I found stuff that _wasn't_ on the files.'

Natasha narrowed her eyes. This she did not like.She was also slightly annoyed Tony had found this out while she hadn't.

'Not your fault,' Tony said, disconcertingly reading her mind. Maybe it would be better if he kept the glasses on. 'This was like next level stuff. JARVIS found it. Basically, Strike Team B claims to have found the Soldier in a base in 2016. In fact, they found him in 2013 when they took down a Hydra cell. Or, it seems, a _rival_ Hydra cell, because they are fucking Hydra as well.'

This wasn't a complete surprised to Natasha. She had her suspicions. Particularly about that jerk Rumlow.

Tony's leg was jumping and his fingers were tapping on the table. The man was bursting with energy.

'Anyway, they secured the Soldier and took him somewhere else.'

'Jersey,' Steve said bitterly.

'An old military base in Jersey,' Tony confirmed, 'where they partially deprogrammed him, but deliberately left out memories of what they had done to him, and left _in_ some key trigger words.'

'They can turn him back into the Soldier?' Natasha felt sick. James with his determination to be a person again, his bright clothes, his _making a friend_. Alexander Pierce had probably never made a friend in his life. And he had the nerve to steal that away from James.

'Yes,' said Tony. 'So we have to get to him. Little Steve here almost fucked up their plans by, you know, befriending him, making out with him. But sadly Barnes' martyr act, while a good idea if your plan was to release information onto the internet to garner public support for a poor, tortured war hero, has kind of made it easier for Pierce to access him.'

'We have to go and get him,' Steve said, his hand trembling. He looked up at Natasha and his eyes were full of white hot rage. And Natasha’s heart went out to him. He was a kindred spirit. He wasn’t getting sad; he was getting _angry_.

\-----

Steve, Tony and Natasha burst into Fury’s office. Well, Tony and Steve burst – Natasha strode in elegantly after them, sleek in her Black Widow costume, having left Fury’s unhappy assistant quivering in his chair when he tried to object to their entry. By looking at him, Steve suspected.

Tony was wearing a ridiculous red and gold suit that took his level of self-promotion to a whole new plane. It was even a bit shiny.

Fury was more difficult to ruffle, scowling silently as they entered the room. Steve’s heart was pounding in his chest – here was the man who had ‘saved’ Bucky by enlisting him in an indefinite, unending war as punishment for crimes he wasn’t responsible for. Steve could feel himself starting to tremble with rage, as images of Bucky’s shy, slow smile, hair falling across his face as he reached out for Steve’s hand flittered through his mind. And Fury had _locked him up again_ after all those terrible things had been done to him, for all those years.

‘Fury,’ Tony barked, ‘where’s Barnes?’

It was lucky Tony was there. Steve had been operating on autopilot since Bucky went away, going through the motions, confused and numb. And then when Tony had showed him those files he had been angry, he had cried at his impotence in the face of those great wrongs he could do nothing to undo. But now, confronted with the organization that had done nothing but take from Bucky, had taken Bucky from _him_ , now he was _properly mad_.

‘Why do you want to know?’ Fury growled. ‘And who’s this.’ He glared at Steve.

Steve glared back and replied, rage like liquid nitrogen in his veins, ‘I’m _James’ friend_ , you know the one. The one he wasn’t allowed to see anymore because he’s only allowed out if he keeps quiet, stays alone, stays _lonely_.’

Steve’s breath came quick; his ribs heaved and his fists clenched. There was a sort of joy to it, being so angry in this small body – it consumed every inch of him, expanded his skin.

Fury paused, staring at the three of them, slowly shaking his head.

‘You three, who would have thought?’ He said, leaning back in his chair.

‘We need to see Barnes right now,’ Tony said impatiently. It turned out once Tony decided he was on your team he was _on your team_. He’d whisked them all to SHIELD HQ, steamrolling anyone who tried to object to Steve’s entry into the building, and attaching a bracelet to Steve that seemed to undo any techno-barriers SHIELD erected against unwelcome visitors. What Tony did to humans JARVIS did do to computer networks.

But when they got to the small apartment – _cell_ – where Bucky was meant to be, it was empty. That moment Steve felt a wave of paralysing sadness. It was a small studio with a single bed, neatly made, a basic kitchen with a two-burner stove and a microwave, an unwelcoming two-seater couch and a TV. A single door led out to what must be the bathroom.

‘There’s only one blanket,’ Steve whispered huskily, seeing the rough grey synthetic blanket strewn across the floor. Natasha brushed his arm. ‘How long was he here for, before?’

‘A few years, I think,’ Tony said. ‘Before that he was’ – Tony furrowed his brow – ‘in that other place.’

Steve could smell Bucky there. His shampoo, his Bucky smell – like summer fruit. And there, on the bench, a single hair bobble. A purple plum.

Steve picked it up and put it in his pocket.

‘We need to find Fury,’ Tony had said.

Fury was steepling his fingers now, staring at them all with his single, narrowed eye.

‘Pierce took him with a team to run a protection detail on the Secretary of State at an event with the Chinese and Russian Ambassadors. It’s very significant, very public, very high risk.’

‘Fuck,’ Tony shouted, and Steve’s chest clenched with fear. ‘ _Pierce_ took him.’

‘He is the Secretary of Defense,’ Fury said, unmoved.

‘He’s a fucking psychopathic Nazi who wants to take over the world is what he is,’ Tony shouted, banging his hands on Fury’s desk.

Steve took a couple of shuddering breaths, tears rising in his eyes. ‘ _You gave him back to them_ ,’ he hissed at Fury, who had sat impervious to Tony’s ranting, but flinched a little as Steve pinned him with his gaze. ‘And you know, don’t you, you know who they are, you know _what they can make him do_.’

Fury didn’t deny it. He knew, Steve thought, he knew all along Bucky hadn’t been fully deprogrammed, was a sleeper, that Pierce and Hydra had pretended to find him, to save him. He was just another pawn to Fury, in a bigger game.

‘Is Clint with them too?’ Natasha asked, voice low and icy.

‘Clint is going to the ceremony, but separately, under my orders,’ Fury replied, finally standing and looking them all in the eye.

‘Look, I know Pierce is planning something. But I don’t know exactly who the target is. I know SHIELD is compromised; I know _Barnes_ is compromised – ‘

‘Not _willingly_ ,’ Steve said through clenched teeth. ‘Only because you let them near him again, didn’t protect him, despite the fact that he agreed to fight for you even though he hates it.’

Fury remained impassive. ‘This way everyone will reveal their hand. Barton is on hand to protect whoever the target is from whatever the weapon is. Hill and Carter I can trust too, and they’re on the ground. It’s unfortunate it got to this point, but there was no way I could move to protect Barnes without showing my hand. I need to know who the target is to understand what Pierce’s game is.’

‘Not us, though?’ Natasha asked. ‘We’re not to be trusted?’ Her voice was cold, but Steve could hear the throb of heat in there. He thought of her in her fuzzy sweater in the coffee shop, warming her hands around the cup.

‘He,’ Fury pointed at Stark, ‘is a liability if the mission doesn’t involve blasting anything. You –’ Fury paused for a moment, cocking his head, ‘– are too close to Barnes.’

Natasha stared at him for a moment.

‘Tony,’ she said.

Tony pressed something on his wrist and with a hiss a slimline Iron Man suit unfolded around him. In a smooth movement he blasted out the wall of Fury’s office to the corridor and scooped up Steve and Natasha under each arm. Before Fury could respond he was zooming down the corridor, blasting from his chest through a window and sweeping out into the air.

Steve was clinging tightly to what seemed to be random handholds on the suit, not breathing at all.

As they swooped across the city he finally managed to take a breath, and realised that the bracelet Tony had given him was magnetized to the suit. Still, he was grateful for all the pullups Bucky had helped him with.

It was so loud – the wind was flapping in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was man enough to admit he was not great with heights. He assumed Tony and Natasha had some sort of communication system going. This bit was totally in their hands. Steve just needed to hang on.

They were descending now, and Steve opened his eyes briefly, seeing a crowd gathered in the National Mall near the Lincoln Memorial. People were looking up and pointing and some of the armed guards on the perimeter were raising their guns, confused by the presence of Iron Man.

Steve looked around desperately, trying to work out where Bucky was.

There was a stage where the Secretary of State was standing at a podium. Behind her a row of dignitaries. _Pierce_ looking up with a blank face and narrowed eyes. The Ambassadors.

Tony landed on the grass outside the perimeter. They had agreed it would be too risky to land inside, surrounded by soldiers. Tony was bullet proof was Natasha and Steve weren’t.

But where was Bucky?

Steve looked around wildly.

Natasha grabbed his arm. ‘He’s over there.’

No wonder Steve hadn’t seen him. He was all in black – his uniform. Tactical pants, heavy vest, the silver of his arm glinting in the sun the most familiar thing to Steve. Bucky had told him that the arm had a red star on it once. A remnant of his time with the Soviets. Bucky had scratched it off. He said they tried to paint something else there – a US flag, stars and stripes. He refused.

But here he was, muzzled, masked, his hair falling loose to his shoulders, standing still and dangerous in the line of SHIELD agents to the side of the stage. The opposite side to where they were.

The crowd was humming and buzzing, the observers outside the perimeter – tourists and locals – holding up their phones to photo Iron Man and the Black Widow.

They were close to the fence. The bracelet release Steve from Tony’s side.

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ he shouted, vaulting over the fence between two surprised police officers and stumbling at he hit the ground.

‘ _Halt!_ ’ ‘ _Steve!_ ’

The shouts were behind him. Steve was running towards Bucky. The soldiers were raising their guns.

‘ _Stop now!_ ’ The agents in front of him were shouting too and Steve drew to a halt, drawing sobbing breaths.

‘ _Bucky!_ ’ And that was what had stopped him, not the agents, but Bucky’s blank eyes staring at him, Bucky’s weapon raised to point at Steve.

On the stage guards had moved to stand in front of the Ambassadors and dignitaries. Alexander Pierce was turning his head to the side to mutter to a SHIELD agent. The agent was talking into his comms and the agents in front of Steve were cocking their heads.

Except Bucky.

Steve’s breath was heaving. Except he wasn’t getting enough air. There was a pain in his chest. He scrabbled at his pocket for his puffer.

‘ _Hands up_ ,’ shouted an agent.

_Bucky, Bucky, Bucky_. Steve couldn’t speak but his heart was bursting with Bucky’s name, his eyes were filling with tears. _Know me Bucky. You know me._

\-----

The Soldier stared down his rifle at the small, blond man in front of him. He was wearing scruffy blue jeans rolled up at the cuffs and a tight white t-shirt with a rainbow on the front. His soft hair was sticking up in all directions.

The Soldier could touch it, smooth it down, then ruffle it up again.

The small man was scrabbling at his pockets. Perhaps gong for a weapon. Or his puffer.

The soldier blinked. Hearing his breath loud in the mask.

Agents were shouting around him.

Then the Handler in his ear. ‘ _Get ready, Soldier. In sixty seconds the agents will fire. You should turn and take out the Target. On my signal._ ’

The small man had stopped trying to reach into his pocket. But he wasn’t raising his arms. He was clutching at his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

Behind the man the Black Widow ( _Natasha_ ) was vaulting the fence, calling a name – _Steve_. Iron Man was hovering in the air.

The small man was dropping to his knees. His blue eyes were full of the sky, full of tears.

‘ _Thirty seconds_.’

The Soldier could sense the agents around him raising their weapons. Two on each side receiving the same orders. To fire on that man who was dropping to his knees, couldn’t breathe, _needs his puffer._

The Soldier swung his metal arm to the left and his rifle to the right, taking out the agents on either side.

‘ _Soldier, stop_ ,’ said the voice in his ear.

The Soldier took three rapid strides to the small man. The Widow was moving quickly towards him.

The Soldier dropped to his knees and reached into the man’s pocket, pulling out the puffer there. He placed his hand on the man’s heart and held the puffer to his lips.

‘Breathe Stevie, breathe.’ And _Steve_ (where had that name come from?) breathed in, once, twice. His blue eyes were full of tears, and he was struggling to speak.

‘It’s okay Steve, just breathe.’ The Soldier pulled off the muzzle, the mask, threw them to the side. Steve breathed, matching his breaths to the Soldier’s.

Steve reached and gripped hold of the Soldier’s hands where they pressed into his heart, held the metal hand and the flesh hand just as tight as one another. He wasn’t afraid of the Soldier.

‘Bucky,’ Steve rasped out a whisper. ‘Your name is Bucky, and you’re my friend. I love you, Bucky, don’t leave me.’ He threw his arms around the Soldier’s – _Bucky’s_ – his name was Bucky – neck. He was warm and smelt like cinnamon and coffee. His check was wet against Bucky’s neck, his lips were soft.

His lips. Steve’s lips. Bucky pulled back and looked into Steve’s overflowing eyes.

‘Steve,’ Bucky whispered back, trembling as he felt it _breaking_ in his mind, whatever it was. In his ear Pierce’s voice was sharp and harsh – ‘ _Sputnik_ ’. But it didn’t work anymore. It was just a word.

Steve was reaching into his pocket and pulling something out, something purple.

‘Let me get your hair out of your face, Buck.’ It was a hair tie with a bobble shaped like a plum. Bucky loved these. They were colorful, where once all of his world was grey, and they reminded him of the taste of fruit.

Steve reached around and gathered up his hair, twisting the elastic to fasten the ponytail.

‘Thanks Stevie,’ Bucky said, stroking Steve’s blond hair down and then ruffling it again.

Around them was a crowd, and people who were dark and heavy with power and violence.

But he had Steve, who was sunshine.

Natasha was holding back a rush of soldiers and SHIELD agents, with glares and the occasional sweeping kick. Iron Man was ushering the two Ambassadors and the Secretary of State off the stage, much to their delight, while Alexander Pierce seemed to have got tripped up on the way after them by an arrow lodged into the podium just in front of his foot.

Chaos reigned around them.

Bucky rested his forehead against Steve’s, holding onto his arms and feeling the movement of his quick breath, tears streaming down their faces.

\-----

‘See, Pierce’s problem is that he wants order. But this world is governed by chaos.’

Sam nodded as Tony Stark lectured him, leaning against the bench as Sam worked the machine.

‘Chaos and information. Chaos is information. Information is chaos.’ Stark was wearing sunglasses inside. Sam kind of dug that. At least the guy was clearly, obviously, identifiably a Very Famous Avenger.

‘Pierce _thinks_ he wants chaos, but he wants a genie he can put back in a bottle. I just want the butterfly to flap its wings and ride the wind.’

Sam handed him a grotesquely enormous flat white. Stark had his own personal keep cup which was the perfect size for an eight-shot coffee with the perfect amount of milk. While Sam understood that Stark had largely given up other mind-altering substances, his conversation suggested he was taking caffeine to the next level.

Sam had almost passed out when he saw the many different sets of footage of one Steve Rogers marching across a highly secured area, almost passing out from an asthma attack and then cuddling the Winter Soldier. And putting up his hair. In a hair elastic with a fruit bobble.

Not long after the internet was flooded with highly top-secret files revealing the decades of torture and brainwashing inflicted upon one James Buchanan Barnes, World War 2 Sergeant. Also apparently supersoldier, assassin, superhero, and Steve Roger’s boyfriend.

Various conservative politicians had tried to suggest James Barnes should be tried – in a court, in a military court, by Congress. Secretary of Defense, Alexander Pierce, had made a lot of speeches about how dangerous the Soldier was, the crimes he had committed, how he needed to be kept locked away forever, or maybe executed.

But somehow the footage of the Winter Soldier literally falling to his knees, helping his tiny boyfriend use his puffer and having his hair tied up with a purple hair elastic meant people didn’t really take that seriously.

Also, a number of people had pointed out that those secret files referred frequently to a shadowy figure, high up in the government, codenamed Clyde, and Alexander Pierce was on the list of people who fit the profile.

‘So did you ever figure out who the Soldier was meant to kill?’ Sam asked. Steve, despite his close and personal involvement in the crazy events at the Mall, was resolutely tight lipped and/or too focused on gazing adoringly at Bucky to give Sam any decent goss.

While Natasha was here more often than Steve these days, she mostly talked to Sam about coffee extraction methods and single origin beans. Also Sam had given her some of his grandma’s knitting patterns. And a scarf he himself had crocheted. Whatever. There was something about her that made him want to wrap her up and feed her warm beverages.

The point was Tony was the only one who told him anything. And he only commuted in from New York.

‘Leave that to Fury. He’ll pull SHIELD together again and find some other way to go after Pierce.’

‘That doesn’t involve sacrificing brainwashed veterans.’

‘We can only hope.’ Tony took off with a wave, muttering to JARVIS, or himself. It was hard to tell.

Sam sighed. What even was his life? At least he had Christmas sorted. He was just going to crochet everyone blankets.

### Epilogue: Incense and peppermints, meaningless nouns

The late afternoon sun was streaming into Steve’s studio. This time of the day was great for painting. Their apartment was old and kind of creaky, and the lift broke a lot which meant climbing thirteen flights of stairs, but they were at the top of the building which meant the light filled his little room in the afternoons.

Bucky stood by the door and watched Steve at his easel, frowning intently, hair a halo in the sunshine. He was wearing paint stained white pants, rolled up at the ankles as always, and a large pink t-shirt that was probably Bucky’s. All of Steve’s own t-shirts were tight – he always bought children’s t-shirts, he claimed to save money, but Bucky knew it was to show off his tiny waist and perfect chest.

It was nice to be back in New York. Bucky had suggested it. Thought it would be easier to get lost in New York, people would care less.

Steve got a job in a ludicrously hipster café in Brooklyn and painted in the afternoons, stood glowing like the avenging angel he was in this little space the two of them had carved out in the world.

Bucky did… stuff. Moving things for people, fixing things. Word got around. No one could fix anything anymore, and everyone seemed to think Bucky has magical powers. Sometimes he did it for money, sometimes for free, sometimes for weird in-kind arrangements. They rarely paid full rent because Bucky had an arrangement with the building Superintendent. He taught yoga at a local gym, as well as self-defence classes.

People knew who he was, knew who Steve was. But the weird thing about this world Bucky found himself in was that that moment of being on everyone’s screen, in everyone’s mind, passed so quickly. There was so much stuff that seemed like it mattered so much, but mattered so little. So many people who weren’t grey and heavy with power, who in the end found the gravity of their own lives more compelling than the fleeting spectacle.

Steve turned and smiled, putting the sun to shame.

‘Bucky!’

Bucky crossed the rooms and wrapped his arms around Steve, breathing in the smell of his hair and paint. Steve’s lips were soft and Bucky dissolved into the kiss, the warmth of sunlight and Steve.

Steve broke away grumbling. ‘You’re distracting me.’ He swatted Bucky’s chest. ‘Go and make some coffee and I’ll be out in half an hour.’

Bucky growled and nuzzled his neck, but allowed Steve to push him away and wandered into the kitchen.

They’d eat well tonight because he’d fixed Leeanne’s sink and she was a nurse so he wouldn’t let him pay him, but she’d forced him to take a dish of macaroni and cheese, telling him he needed to fatten his man up.

Bucky turned on the oven and got out some beans to grind. Natasha was always bringing them fresh roasted beans, and had also gifted them a coffee grinder ( _it has to be a burr grinder James_ ) and a variety of different coffee-making instruments, which mostly were for her to use when she came to visit. Bucky just used the filter machine, which for some reason Natasha still approved of.

As the coffee brewed, Bucky wandered into the small living room and opened the blanket box to survey his options. Sam had won over Bucky’s heart completely with a quilt made by his great grandmother made before the war. But that was for nights when he was feeling a bit sad, hearing the echo of dance halls and laughter long gone and mostly forgotten.

Tonight he was feeling more classic fleece, maybe pink for him and blue for Steve.

The blanket box was a gift from Tony. He had wanted to buy them an apartment, or move them into the tower, and shower them with riches. In many ways having Tony hate him had been less exhausting, Bucky sometimes reflected.

But Bucky said he didn’t want to be rich. Tony had been surprisingly silent at that point. When Bucky looked at Tony’s loud clothes and bright life he wondered if he too was fighting the cold, grey weight of power. Tony had just said that maybe Bucky should check with Steve, who might not want to work in a coffee shop forever.

_I know it would be so much easier Steve – we could just be rich, you could just paint. If that’s what you want we can do it._

Steve had asked him what he wanted, and he said what was true: _I just want to feel it again, to carry it – just a life._

And that was what they had. A small two-bedroom apartment – one room for their big bed they could curl in together at night, one room for Steve to paint in. He had a show soon, and maybe some people would come to see paintings of the Winter Soldier.

But all they would see would be paintings of New York, of the sky, and of Bucky Barnes.

The coffee had finished brewing and Steve was packing up in the studio. He wandered out barefoot and paint-splattered and Bucky poured him a coffee.

‘I need you to sit for me tomorrow,’ Steve said, inhaling the scented steam rising from the cup.

‘That’s fine,’ Bucky said, ‘I just have a morning class.’

Steve was staring at him intently, and Bucky felt himself start to blush. After he’d been painting Steve really _saw_ things, and the intensity of his regard made Bucky very aware of his own body. He was still wearing his old blue work jeans and a red flannelette shirt – Steve called it his sexy carpenter look.

Without thinking he tugged out his strawberry hair elastic and ran his fingers through his hair.

Steve smirked. ‘You tryin’ to seduce me Bucky? Like a shampoo model?’

Bucky glared at him, feeling his face heat up even more, and his cock stir slightly in his jeans.

Steve deliberately put the coffee cup on the table and prowled towards him, looking through his long eyelashes.

‘Steve,’ Bucky growled. ‘I see what you’re up to.’

‘What am I up to Bucky?’ Steve reached up and slid his arms around Bucky’s neck, pressing the slender length of his frame against Bucky.

Bucky huffed and slid his hands around Steve’s waist. Even now his body often felt too big, too strong – filling up more space than it should. But Steve made him feel perfectly proportioned,

Bucky lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to Steve’s mouth, breathing in the softness of his full lips, the gentle slide of Steve’s tongue against Bucky’s.

‘You need to take me to bed now Bucky Barnes,’ Steve whispered. ‘I saw you’ve got mac and cheese, and you’ve already chosen the blankets, and if I wait until bedtime you’ll be too sleepy to fuck me.’

Bucky moaned, and lifted Steve off his feet. Steve laughed in delight, holding on and wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist.

Bucky carried him into the bedroom and fell backwards onto the bed landing with a giggling Steve pressed along his front.

The room was still lit with twilight and Bucky watched as Steve pulled his t-shirt over his head and wriggled out of his pants. One incredibly hot thing Bucky had discovered was that Steve always painted without underpants. It was particularly distracting when Bucky was sitting for him naked.

Now Steve was kissing his neck, his collarbones, unbuttoning his shirt and manhandling it off Bucky. He kissed Bucky’s chest, sucked at his nipples looking up and smiling as he worked his way down Bucky’s belly.

Bucky was overwhelmed by wonder that he was here, now, in the 21st century, had come so far from that handsome young queer boy who loved dancing and kissing and fucking and thought violence was a punch up in a back alley or a stabbing down the docks.

That boy was still part of him, part of this him who loved Steve Rogers more than he ever would have been able to when he was young and carried just one life. Bucky now understood he would always carry many lives – at least five of his own, and hundreds he had taken as the Soldier.

And with all of them he loved Steve Rogers, who was pulling of his pants with a determined expression and clambering back up the bulk of Bucky’s body.

‘Do you wanna watch me Bucky?’ Steve breathed huskily, reaching for the lube.

‘Please Steve,’ Bucky replied softly, staring at the fading light pink across Steve’s pale chest, his eyes glowing blue.

Steve slicked his finger and reached behind himself, biting his lip and giving a little moan as he breached himself, eyes fixed on Bucky’s. And Bucky watched entranced as Steve bore down on one finger then two, the base of his beautiful cock rubbing against Bucky’s belly, hardening and beading wet at the tip.

Bucky just held Steve, rubbing his hands along the downy hair of his thighs, along his belly, the side of his ribs. Steve gasped and trembled as he took in the third finger, rolling his hips a little to fuck down, then pulling them out. Bucky’s whole body was warm with desire – slow and contented, not urgent. He felt like he could lie here under Steve for one hundred years.

When Steve first touched his cock with a slick hand Bucky cried out at the jolt of pleasure, arching and thrusting into Steve’s hand.

‘Yeah, baby,’ Steve said, eyes hooded and dark, ‘I know.’ And he shifted and guided Bucky’s cock into his tight, wet hole, lowering himself down and settling with a satisfied grunt.

Bucky trembled, hands fluttering over Steve as he raised himself up again a little and lowered down, adjusting and relaxing. Then Steve was moving, light and lithe but is body holding Bucky so tightly. They were both whimpering and moaning, murmuring one another’s names, eyes fluttering but always filled with the site of the other.

‘I wanna touch you Stevie,’ Bucky said, raising his chest up and enfolding Steve, thrusting his hips up and using his arms to move Steve’s body, fucking into him deeper and deeper, feeling their skin pressed together, Steve’s cock trapped between their bellies.

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ Steve keened and it was music, beauty, the night was falling and they were indistinct now, their edges blending. Steve made a punched out cry every time Bucky thrust in, Bucky’s breath was ragged and guttural, his whole body electric with building pressure. He moved his fingers between Steve’s cheeks to feel where they joined, to press Steve’s balls, and Steve came, clenching around Bucky, and Bucky was shouting, filling Steve, collapsing back onto the bed in a sweaty tangle.

They lay there breathing for a few moments, Bucky stroking Steve’s hair, that still seemed to glow a little, like it had stolen some sunshine. He pressed a kiss onto Steve’s part.

‘The squats are helping then?’ he murmured and Steve smacked him on the shoulder and grumbled into his chest.

Bucky grinned happily, thinking about how soon he would get up and get a washcloth to wipe them down, and put the mac and cheese into the oven while Steve showered.

His name was Bucky Barnes and he was a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's come on this little journey for your comments and kudos along the way. I have to confess that parts of the story were a bit amorphous when I started, and some of the comments really sparked ideas for me. Never be afraid to comment! 
> 
> If you don't know, the title and the chapter titles are from the classic hit "Incense and peppermints" by Strawberry Alarm Clock (1967). I have no real idea why I chose this song.
> 
> I'm also [on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stuckyflangst) and also [twitter](https://twitter.com/powerfulowl2%22). My twitter is really new because it's just a fanfic account. Why are people so obsessed with Sebastian Stan on a yacht? This never turned up in my regular account.
> 
> If anyone is interested, as few reflections on the writing of this story, which I'm going to start dong on my fics.  
> \- My inclination is sometimes to leave things on a final dramatic scene and fade to black, and sometimes people have said they'd like to see more. This time I tried to end with a domestic slice of life. Feel free to let me know if you did/didn't like that.  
> \- Wow, I really enjoyed writing this Bucky and Steve. Also Tony. But Natasha's POV was really hard. I'd like to try that more sometime. I have a really clear picture of her when I'm writing her from another POV, but inside her head is harder. She definitely likes knitwear. Headcanon.  
> \- Expository dumps get me down, and it was hard to work the evil plot into the story. I think the pizza shop conversation does it??

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr.
> 
> I also welcome all comments, constructive and otherwise. I might only be saying that because no one has ever left me a mean comment, but I feel like comments are so good even bad ones might be good?
> 
> Also, is brick shithouse just an Australian thing? Speaking of Australia - [#blacklivesmatterAustralia](https://au.gofundme.com/c/act/black-lives-matter-australia).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Incense and peppermints, the color of time- FanArt!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342939) by [Neutralchaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos)




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